Harry Potter and the Hallows of Death
by merlynthegrey
Summary: War changes everyone: Harry resolves to face destiny and struggles to reconcile with Dumbledore's past, fully aware of the price he must pay for victory. Hermione walks through fire, determined to share in Harry's burden. Ron battles resurgent jealousy and soon discovers he may lose far more than he stood to gain. One thing is certain; peace is never cheaply purchased. H/Hr
1. The Boy Under the Stairs

**Harry Potter and the Hallows of Death**

**Author's Notes:** This is Post HBP and will follow canon as closely as possible, with some of my own twists and turns relating to DH. The Horcruxes will go unchanged, as will all events from HBP and prior. As the title suggests, the Deathly Hallows will also remain a central point of the back story of Albus. There is no character bashing, especially Albus Dumbledore, for reasons explained later. The focus of this story however, is the relationship between Harry and Hermione, the love that should have been. The relationship will be developed slowly – nurtured and intentional. As was the case with HBP, Ron and Hermione are not in a relationship and never will be. The story picks up before the start of DH, after the funeral of Albus Dumbledore. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy writing it. I don't know how long the story will end up being, but I am anticipating it to be a long one. As a self-published author, this undertaking is truly for my own personal satisfaction. Lastly, as rating goes, I don't prescribe to graphic details regarding sexual adventures; things are alluded to, certainly, but I'm more interested in the depth of the relationship. There will also be violence, death, and difficult emotions. Thus, I feel it appropriate that a T rating is sufficient. Please let me know should that change.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless adults and children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment. **

**Chapter One: The Boy Under the Stairs**

Harry Potter had always dreaded the end of term at Hogwarts as it always reminded him he would soon be in the company of those who wished he had never been born. He had always enjoyed his time at the Burrow and while the abundant love he had received there often overwhelmed him, Hogwarts was home. He had to admit likewise that leaving Hogwarts was especially difficult for no other reason than the separation between himself and his two best friends. Yet, Harry had to admit while he mindlessly allowed himself to be guided towards the platform where the Hogwarts Express awaited; Hogwarts was not home without Albus Dumbledore.

It was difficult enough as images of Snape casting the killing curse played over and over in his mind; harder still was wrestling the heavy truth that he, Harry, had played his own part in weakening his beloved headmaster and even harder to acknowledge he had been unable to help. The power that Dumbledore had repeatedly tried to convince Harry was greater than any magic known was the very power that Harry wished he had none at all. Dumbledore had told him that his ability to feel pain was his greatest strength - he had never felt more helpless in his life. It had hurt when Sirius died; what he experienced now was torture. He knew he was on the verge of collapse. He knew his resolve was weakening with every step toward the platform. He had told no one where he and the headmaster had been that night. How could he? To Harry, he killed Albus Dumbledore as much as Draco and Snape had. In fact it was far worse; he had forced the headmaster through unknowable pain and misery. At least Snape had been merciful. Dumbledore had not suffered.

Hermione Granger had likewise found it difficult to pay attention during the funeral. It was unlike her, to be inattentive to what would undoubtedly be the greatest memorial gathering of any celebrated wizard in her lifetime. Rather, she had observed Harry intently through the service. She saw something in Harry she had never seen before; despair. She would bet her life on it and would defy anyone who thought they knew better. She knew her friend better than anyone, even Ronald Weasley. Despair had never graced the young Gryffindor's face. Ron had of course been completely oblivious to his friend's state of mind, as likely did Ginny despite being right beside him. Harry had been tight-lipped about what happened between him and the headmaster before arriving at the astronomy tower. Harry had admitted the headmaster had been weakened. Knowing Harry as she did, she wondered if guilt was not at the source. And she knew without doubt as she watched Harry fumble absent-mindedly with the fake horcrux locket Dumbledore had ultimately given his life to attain, that Harry believed himself at fault for his death. She would not press Harry for the details of that night but she was determined to let him know that she would be there for him when he was ready. She only hoped he wouldn't wait until he could hold the burden no longer.

But if the despair she witnessed in Harry's face was not enough, she had watched from afar the serious conversation Harry was having with Ginny. She knew what the heart of that conversation would be without hearing it. He was ending things between them. She admired Harry, even though she knew it only caused him heartache to break from Ginny. He was a true Gryffindor. She didn't need the proof of Godric's sword to know it.

The trio boarded the train and found a compartment at the rear of the last car. Ginny had understandably followed closely behind but Harry quickly dismissed her in the all the kindness he could muster.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, but I need to speak with Ron and Hermione in private," said harry. Ginny gave him a sorrowful expression, followed almost immediately with disappointment. Harry knew he'd hurt her but willed himself to be strong. Harry closed the compartment door and swiftly cast a silencing spell to ensure no one could hear their conversation.

"You can't keep her away, mate," said Ron. "I know Dumbledore didn't want people to know anything about the horcruxes, but Ginny is your girlfriend. You can tell her without going into detail."

"We're not dating anymore, Ron," said Harry. Ron's jaw dropped.

"Harry, why?" he asked dumb-founded. "When did that happen?"

"At the funeral" answered Harry. He struggled with next bit. "I don't think it's wise for me to date anyone. They'll end up dead. I'll probably end up dead." Hermione looked away and out the window as the train started its slow departure. She could not meet her friend's eyes as he said those words. She knew her heart would shatter if that fate were to come to pass. She felt her resolve strengthen to make sure that never happened, even at the cost of her own life. She turned back to Harry. He had certainly made up his mind. As before, Ron was oblivious.

"Harry you'll never be happy if you let You-Know-Who determine how you live your life," said Ron adamantly

"Ronald," Hermione scolded, putting an elbow into his rib.

"Come on, Hermione, tell him," said Ron. "You don't think Harry's just being thick and paranoid?"

"No, I don't," said Hermione. "I think it's admirable, but more importantly, his decision to make."

"Bloody hell," exclaimed Ron, beside himself. "I guess if I'm honest I suppose I'm glad that she won't be in the middle of it. She'll be a right mess when we leave. So will mum, come to think of it."

In that moment, Harry dropped his face into his hands and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Are you alright, Harry," asked Hermione. She placed her free hand on his shoulder.

"No," he answered to the floor, surprised by his own honesty. Hermione at this point disengaged herself from her seat next to Ron and sat beside Harry, embracing him tightly with both her arms. She knew Harry would collapse at any moment. And he did.

"I – I don't want you to come with me," he said, choking back tears. "I'd ne-never live w-with myself if anything ha-happened to either of you." Hermione felt her eyes swimming in tears as she glanced to Ron, who at last appeared to finally come to grips with his best friend's motives for breaking away from his little sister.

"It's alright, Harry," began Hermione as she held him tighter, but harry shook his head defiantly.

"Dumbledore's dead because he was trying to help me," said Harry, his voice on the edge of tearing. "Sirius is dead because he tried to protect me. My parents are dead because Voldemort wanted me." He looked up at them both, eyes burning and chest pounding; he had to make them understand. "I never knew my parents, but Sirius and Dumbledore meant everything to me. And they still don't come anywhere close to what you two mean to me." He had said it. He had told them he loved them in the only way he knew how too. Saying the words themselves was too dangerous.

"That's enough, Harry," said Hermione, trying to comfort him. But Harry wasn't finished.

"All I could see where your caskets out there, that I was the one burying you," continued Harry. He couldn't stop himself. He turned first to Ron. "I saw your family gathered around you, telling them how sorry I was. It hurt just imagining it, and I don't want to experience it firsthand." He turned to Hermione. "And you, I had to tell your parents too. I told them you died because we were friends, because I couldn't protect you. I had to tell your parents their only daughter was dead because she was friends with me. It was torture. I want to die just thinking about it. I won't have it, either of you. You're not coming with me." For a moment, Harry thought he'd gotten through. They both stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief. A moment later, the side of his head was searing in pain. Hermione rose from her seat with surprising agility and smacked him across the cheek with more strength than Harry could have thought possible from his friend. She then grabbed him just as quickly with both hands at the collar so they were face to face, his eyes staring into the deep brown of hers, as full of tears as his own.

"Harry Potter, you listen to me," she said in ringing tones. "How do you think we feel, how I feel, if you were to die because we weren't there for you? Has it ever crossed your mind? How do you think we'd feel to be the ones burying you? Do you think Sirius wanted to bury you? Or Dumbledore? Your parents? They gave everything so they didn't have to bury you!"

"I –" Harry began but Hermione shook him.

"I said listen to me, Harry Potter." Harry fell silent at the fury of her voice and the intensity of her stare. "I am not going to bury you. I am not going to leave you alone to this terrible burden. I am not going to let you out of my sight and I'll be damned if you think for one moment I'm leaving you to fight V-Voldemort alone." Harry became silent, lost for words as he gazed unbelievingly up at his female friend. He knew she meant every word. Hermione released her hold of his collar and returned to her seat beside him.

"She's right, mate," said Ron. "We're coming too."

"Dumbledore told you that you needed us," said Hermione. "If the greatest wizard of the age felt it important that you had us, who are we to argue?" Harry would never admit it, but in the silence of their compartment, he was briefly happy he had the best friends anyone could ask for.

Most of the journey had been a quiet ordeal. The train, usually full of boisterous voices had fallen under the oppressiveness of waiting for the approaching storm they all knew was coming. Harry still felt convinced it would be better for him to go it alone, but knew it would futile to attempt to press the issue any further, least of all to Hermione. Hermione did not return to her original seat but appeared as determined as ever to be close to Harry.

"First thing's first, of course, is that Harry will need to go back to his aunt and uncles to re-strengthen the wards Dumbledore talked about. Harry, did he ever tell you how long you needed to stay?"

Harry shook his head.

"He only asked the Dursley's to let me return one more time." He allowed himself a quick smile remembering Dumbledore's light-handed but direct accusation that the Dursley's had been horrible to him. And then there were the floating glasses annoyingly nudging at the side of their heads.

"We do know for certain that it ends when you turn seventeen," said Hermione. "I suppose the Order will want you to wait until then. Of course, Voldemort will also know that the wards will fail when you come of age." She shuddered mildly at hearing herself utter the Dark Lord's name, but she refused to be afraid if for no one's sake but Harry's.

"But where do we start looking for horcruxes," asked Ron.

"I dunno," said Harry. "Dumbledore had only recently discovered where Voldemort had hid the locket just shortly before we went to retrieve it. He never mentioned if he suspected where any others where, other than the snake, which we don't know for certain that it is really a horcrux."

"But we do have some starting points," said Hermione quickly. "Dumbledore suspected he'd want items that belonged to the founders. We don't where the locket is, but we at least know that someone does. We'll need to find out who R.A.B. is or we'll never find it. Also, from what Harry has shared with us, we also can feel confident that Voldemort managed to get his hands on Hufflepuff's cup. I'll see what I can find any history relating to the cup; it might give us an idea on where to start looking."

"At the best, that still leaves us with having no idea what the last one could be, assuming the snake is indeed one of them," said Harry half-heartedly. The trio all nodded in agreement.

Harry found himself wishing the train ride had been longer when they finally arrived at King's Cross. They had spoken of their plans at great length, only to feel they now had more questions than answers. Many of the student's parents rushed their children through the barrier of platform nine and three quarters. The platform had never been so quiet and empty. On the other side, the Dursely's were nowhere to be seen. Despite this, Harry noticed a few familiar faces waiting to greet them. Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Remus, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Mad-Eye stood as a small group, deep in conversation with two people Harry had never seen before. They appeared to be married, Harry surmised as the gentleman had his hand around the woman's waist. It was not shortly thereafter he recognized that the woman looked shockingly familiar to Hermione.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione," greeted Mr. Weasley as they approached. Harry nodded while Ron shook his father's hand. Hermione smiled but walked to meet the strangers in the group. She then turned to Harry.

"You've never met my parents, have you, Harry?" Harry shook his head. The gentleman stepped forward and held out his hand.

"I'm William," he said, pleasantly with a brief smile. Mr. Granger was taller than Harry expected, his hair was brown like his daughters, but considerably darker and had been kept short and tidy. When he smiled Harry knew exactly where Hermione had gotten hers.

"Pleasure to meet you," mumbled Harry. He struggled to keep eye contact as the funeral visions from earlier that day came back to him. He no longer had to imagine what Hermione's parents looked like. Next was Hermione's mother, who greeted him with a pleasant smile.

"I'm Jane," she said. Hermione's hair had come from her mother, as had her eyes. Harry nodded this time.

"Harry, I don't see your relatives here," said Mr. Weasley. "They should have received the same letter about the early end of term."

"I doubt it," said Harry. "They don't want anything to do with me, so it's not a far stretch they wouldn't have bothered to read a letter." He briefly caught the confused look of both Hermione's parents. Harry suspected Hermione had not told them much of Harry's relatives and he was quite glad. He hated it when people looked at him in pity.

"We'll I suppose I could take you," said Mr. Weasley. "Or perhaps Remus and Tonks?" Before Harry could answer, Hermione spoke.

"I'm sure Dad and Mom wouldn't mind to take you, Harry?" She glanced up at her parents. They smiled and agreed they could do that since they would be driving to Surrey on their way home themselves.

"Well, I don't really see the trouble there," said Mr. Weasley. "Although it's not the most secure."

"Remus and I can tail them," said Tonks, her hair quickly flashing from pink to blonde. "We had intended to follow the Granger's anyway to make sure they got home safely."

Well, I suppose that's settled then," said Mr. Weasley. Mad-Eye nodded his agreement but not before warning Harry to have constant vigilance. Ron gave a quick goodbye to them and left with Mr. Weasley and Ginny (who gave Harry no recognition at all). He knew she was quite angry with him. Remus and Tonks helped Harry and Hermione with their luggage and placed it the back of the Granger's BMW.

"I must say, it's nice to finally meet you, Harry," said Mrs. Granger as they buckled into their seats. "Hermione has told us so much about you." Mr. Granger was quick to acknowledge the same.

"Not too much, I hope," said Harry quietly. He cast a nervous glace to Hermione, who gave him a reassuring look while taking his hand briefly.

"I must say, though, I'm surprised your relatives weren't at the station," continued Mrs. Granger. "I suppose they could have missed the owl, but I don't see how. We never do."

"My aunt and uncle aren't exactly the type who likes anything to do with magic."

"We certainly had a hard time with it at first," said Mr. Granger. "But we adjusted all the same. I'm sure there was just a misunderstanding here with your aunt and uncle." Harry chose to stay quiet.

"So Hermione, are you seeing Ronald now," Mrs. Granger asked with smile.

"No, mom," said Hermione. "He's a bit thicker than most boys."

"I'll have to have a conversation with him soon," said Mr. Granger with a smirk. Again Harry remained quiet as Hermione and her parents continued to chat. They did talk about Dumbledore's funeral and Hermione did give them only minimal information, purposefully keeping any mention of Harry from her account.

"I'm awfully worried about you going to that school," said Mr. Granger. "I know it's part of you now, but I'm just not sure I like what's happening." Hermione then went into a long explanation about how it didn't matter if she were part of the wizarding world or not – everyone was in danger.

"Do they know about me, and well, Voldemort," Harry whispered to Hermione.

"Only what most young wizards do, Harry, that he was defeated when he attacked you as a baby, and that he has returned. I've told them minimally more so. Dumbledore came to visit them after the Ministry event. He told them I was safer at Hogwarts then in their own home. In fact," she paused here giving the faintest smile. "He told them I was safer at Hogwarts because I was with you."

Harry sat in shock after that revelation. After what felt like an eternity they arrived in Little Whinging and Harry gave them the directions to number four, Private Drive. They pulled into the drive and Harry was surprised to see that the Dursely's were not home. Mr. and Mrs. Granger followed Harry and Hermione to the front door.

"Thanks for the lift," said Harry.

"It was no trouble at all," said Mr. Granger.

"Perhaps you can give us a short tour, Harry," asked Hermione. "I've never been to your house." Harry nodded and they all entered into the house where Harry had lived out his miserable childhood.

"There isn't much to look at," said Harry, suddenly suspicious of Hermione's sudden interest. Harry had never gone into details of his life at the Dursleys, but he had told his friends enough to know that it was an unhappy place for him. "My room is upstairs, the smallest, next to my cousin's. There's the kitchen, and the living room." But Hermione immediately went to the stairs. Before Harry realized what was happening, Hermione stood staring at the cupboard under the stairs as tears flowed down her checks freely. She was as familiar with the story as any child who had grown up reading the stories. She knew Harry had no idea that the most of the wizarding world knew Harry had lived in a cupboard. Mrs. Granger went to her daughter and hugged her.

"Hermione, dear, what is the matter?"

"This is," answered Hermione. She pointed to the cupboard.

"I don't understand," Mrs. Granger said trying to comfort her daughter. Then without any warning, Hermione separated herself from her mother and embraced Harry in a bone-crushing hug and she wept.

"They've b-been so h-horrible to you," she cried. "I n-never wanted to b-believe it, and I c-could n-never ask you about it." Harry tried to comfort her, his eyes darting between each of Hermione's parents as he saw gradually their own dawning comprehension. Mrs. Granger held her hands to her mouth appalled while Mr. Granger simply stood in disbelief. They turned from photograph to photograph in the many frames hanging on the wall; no photo of Harry was present.

They understood.

Author's Notes: I felt it extremely important to have Hermione see where Harry spent his childhood, as have other author's on this site. This is important because the foundation of the relationship has to be laid solidly, and I can think of no better way than for Hermione to understand how Harry became the man he is.

As I said, there will be no Dumbledore bashing; I don't believe that Dumbledore was abusive or neglectful to Harry. He knew the prophecy and as such, knew he would only be able to protect him to some degree. It's important to keep in mind that Dumbledore had put many barriers in place to prevent Harry from getting into danger; it was only when Harry managed to go around those road blocks did his life ever fall into mortal danger. As for the Durselys, I imagine that Dumbledore wrestled with himself greatly leaving Harry in that house, but as we know, Voldemort had much more success at getting to Harry at Hogwarts then he ever did when he was at the Dursleys. Furthermore, I don't believe that Dumbledore wouldn't have gone to any length to discover a way to destroy the horcrux in Harry without him having to face death as he did in DH. Based on the episode with the potion in HBP, I would be willing to bet that keeping secret what Harry would have to do was nearly as torturous as his memory of his sister. Lastly, Dumbledore knew his time was limited and had to prioritize what he could to make sure Harry had the best chance he could to accomplish his task. OotP also makes it clear that while Dumbledore's methods are not free of mistakes, he clearly, genuinely cared about Harry.


	2. Dumbledore's Letter

Author's Notes: I do hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter. Readers will notice close similarities between my plot and that of the original, but as mentioned before, there are lots of twists and turns from the original. Most of the story will be predominately from Harry's perspective, but will from time to time take place from Hermione's point of view as well.

As far as Hermione not using the argument that she wouldn't stay away because Voldemort would hunt her down as she is Muggleborn; my argument is twofold: one, I simply overlooked it in response to reason two: my focus is on her relationship with Harry and I think we can all agree that she wouldn't leave Harry alone even if she were a pureblood. None-the-less, it is an argument she would make and I can't fault it.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless adults and children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment. **

**Chapter Two: Dumbledore's Letter**

Harry did not sleep that night. The look on Hermione's face when Mrs. Granger opened the cupboard door would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. The three Grangers gasped in horror as their eyes traveled from the old shelves where Harry once stored the few belongings he'd had then to the cot he once slept in. They saw the small sliding vent that had been installed so that Vernon or Petunia could at their ease issue commands or insults without ever laying eyes upon him. The Grangers had seen all they needed and were immediate with their request that Harry return with them to their home where he would be welcome. It took several long minutes for Harry to explain why that wasn't possible and that things had improved substantially regarding his sleeping accommodations since his beginning at Hogwarts. They had insisted to see his current situation which he wanted to protest, but Hermione did not wait for Harry's acquiescence and went up the stairs on her own. Harry would likewise never forget the words that Hermione had uttered at the top of the stairs.

_If I ever get to see them again, I'll make them wish they'd never been born! _

She had seen the trapdoor that uncle Vernon had fitted the summer after Harry's first return from Hogwarts, the same year the bars on the window were installed. He was sure that Ron had told Hermione about them after their daring rescue in the flying car. Harry hoped Hermione had forgotten. But Hermione rarely forgot anything. She walked to the window, her quivering hand resting on one of the window panes.

_This is where they put up the bars, isn't it, Harry? _Harry recalled Hermione's parent's reaction to that statement. Mr. Granger had sworn loudly (an occurrence Harry was very confident in believing was uncharacteristic of the man). Mrs. Granger surprisingly embraced Harry. He was keenly aware that it was much like those Mrs. Weasley had also given him; a mother's hug.

Seeing Harry's bedroom reignited the Granger's demand that he return with them. Several more minutes were spent reminding them why he had to be here. He assured them it was the last time he'd be returning to this house. At long last they relented when Hermione agreed that harry was right, but not without expressing her absolute disappointment that Harry had never confided in her about the details of his upbringing. He quickly regretted his answer.

_Would you tell anyone? _

She about ripped him open. He was thankful she could not perform magic at his relative's house out of the likely case he would be brought up again with false charges of performing underage magic. It was however, the second time that day that he had felt her hand across his face. Before the Grangers left, Hermione informed him that she would apparate back every day until he left the house for good. Fearing another encounter with Hermione's hand, he did not try to convince her otherwise.

And so Harry tossed and turned throughout the night as his mind fought against the constant assault of the day's events: the funeral, Dumbledore's suffering, breaking from Ginny, his failure to convince his friends to remain behind, and last of all the Grangers personal knowledge of Harry Potter's life away from Hogwarts.

Hermione resigned herself to a sleepless night. Upon arriving home her parents insisted on learning more about Harry and were convinced that Hermione knew more than she had been letting on for the past six years. They particularly wanted to know how she knew about the cupboard under the stairs when it was clear to them that harry at least, had never told her. Hermione confessed there had been rumors about Harry's upbringing.

"I never believed them," said Hermione. "They were like the fairytales you used to read me at bed time." She quickly rattled a few of them off as though they were as common as tales like _The Boy Who Cried Wolf, _and _Little Red Riding Hood._ "I didn't believe them until Ron told me about the bars they had to remove from the windows when they went to fetch him the first summer back from Hogwarts. They caged him like an animal." Her face turned red in anger. Mrs. Granger gently guided Hermione to a seat on the living room sofa beside her.

"Tell us more, Hermione," she said soothingly. "We know things are dangerous in your world right now, and we can tell this boy is in the middle of it. Your headmaster told us this much." Hermione burst into tears.

"Of course he's in the middle of it," she cried. "But I can't tell you much, mother. You'll be in more danger than you are now." Mr. Granger had now come to join them and sat on the other side of Hermione, placing her firmly between her parents.

"Sweetheart," he began, his hands taking a firm hold of his daughter's. "We know enough from what the headmaster said that we can surmise the danger we're already in simply because you are our daughter, and that you are Harry's friend. We understand that there are laws that keep you from sharing certain information and that's alright. Every day is a risk when we walk out our door. We could die in a car crash, be mugged and murdered in an ally, or die of an unsuspected illness. Life can be gone in a moment. We need to know what's happening in our little girl's life."

"Alright, daddy, I'll try."

"That's my little girl," he said with a reassuring smile.

"Where do you want to start?"

"Tell us about Harry," said Mrs. Granger, "the real story."

Hermione recounted everything; the major events as well as the seemingly insignificant ones. She began with Halloween night and the troll as the first story she had never told her parents. How nobody wanted to be her friend, how even Ronald Weasley had unabashedly insulted her. She told them in details that were as clear to her as though they happened yesterday how the brave Harry Potter came to her rescue. She admitted that Ron came too, but knew just as her parents instinctively knew that it had been Harry who rescued their daughter. She then started over to explain why Harry Potter was so important to the wizarding world so that her parents could understand what it meant to her to have Harry arrive as he did to fight a troll. She told them how Voldemort had sought out the Potters (she excluded the prophecy and its importance) and had killed them, before turning to baby Harry. She told them how Harry was the only one known to have ever survived the killing curse. How he became the most famous wizard in the world.

She told them about the Sorcerer's Stone and Voldemort's attempt to regain his former power. How Harry went on alone without her to face him and how he came back victorious. One at a time, she meticulously recounted every event that mattered: the Chamber of Secrets, the escape of Sirius Black and how she and Harry alone had saved him, the truth about the Potter's betrayal, the escape of Peter Pettigrew, how Harry fought to repel the Dementors, the Tri-Wizard tournament and the terrible tasks Harry had to contend with, the return of Voldemort and the death of Cedric Diggory, the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry, Harry's struggles to learn Occlumency, the death of Sirius Black, and finally the Death Eater's infiltration of Hogwarts, the betrayal of Severus Snape and the death of Albus Dumbledore.

She told them about forming Dumbledore's Army during Umbridge's reign of the castle and the Ministry's attempt to smear both Harry and Dumbledore's name. She even shared her favorite memory with them; Harry's comforting arm around her when Ron and Lavender became an item. She recounted the funeral as she watched Harry end his relationship with Ginny to protect her. Lastly she told them about the train ride home.

"He wanted to leave us behind, to protect us," she said exhausted. She had cried all her tears. Her eyes were puffy and red.

"But why does he feel he has to take care of this all on his own," asked Mr. Granger. "You have a ministry that knows the truth now and you have this Order group that seems competent enough. Can't they take care of this?"

"The Ministry is doing what it can now, just like the Order," said Hermione, "but they can't do what Harry has to do." She paused here, weighing her words carefully. She had to make them understand that only Harry could finish Voldemort for good, without telling them anything about the prophecy.

"Explain," said Mr. Granger.

"I can't daddy," she said. "Only four people know why; one was Professor Dumbledore, and he's gone now. It's only us three left and we have to keep it a secret. You just have to understand that only Harry can defeat Voldemort for good."

"That's why he wanted to protect you, all of you," said Mr. Granger. "Because he knows he'll be in V-Voldemort's direct path." Hermione had thought she could cry no more but at her father's words of understanding, she buried herself into his chest and wept. After a few minutes, Mr. Granger pulled his daughter up so he could look her in the eyes.

"I must remember to thank him for protecting my daughter."

"I just wish I could protect him," said Hermione, finally letting the words of her greatest desire escape her lips.

It was then that the Granger's living room burst with blinding crimson light. Perched on their living room table, was Fawkes. Beneath one of his feet was a small packaged box with letter attached. Hermione's parents were quick to react as the made to protect their daughter, but Hermione was faster. She stood quickly with a reassuring glace to her parents and gave Fawkes a quick stroke on his beak.

"Fawkes," said Hermione, "is, well, was Dumbledore's phoenix."

"But what is he doing here," asked her mother.

"I don't know, mum, but I think this will probably answer our questions." She reached for the package. As soon as she grabbed it Fawkes disappeared in the same manner he had appeared, leaving a second momentarily blinding flash of crimson light. The letter was addressed:

_Miss. Hermione J. Granger_

Hermione instantly recognized the handwriting as belonging to Professor Dumbledore. She grabbed the package and the letter, and with a rushed apology to her parents, ran to her room and shut the door. Setting the package down on her nigh stand, she hastily opened the letter.

_Dear Hermione, _

_I must apologize first and foremost for the nature of the delivery of this letter. I do hope Fawke's arrival did not cause you or your family any discomfort. If so, I humbly apologize for this as well. I must also apologize for the heavy burden I am about to place upon you, and that I did not have the opportunity to do so in person._

_Before that, however, I must thank you for all the years you have stood at Harry's side, no matter what storms prevailed against him. We both know he is a strong-willed young man with a courageous heart and is not easily dissuaded from hardships most would happily avoid. It is clear to me however, that you have always been the wind in his sails (forgive me for borrowing such a common muggle phrase). Thank you, Hermione, for being there for him when I myself have failed countless times to do so. I am confident that with you (and yes, Mr. Weasley), that Harry will be able to accomplish the terrible burden I was unable to complete. _

_I write this letter as I prepare to journey with Harry to a seaside cave near the orphanage where Tom Riddle spent his childhood. I have found evidence that a horcrux resides in that cave but I cannot accomplish retrieving it without Harry's assistance. The ring I found at the remains of Gaunt's house proves this only too painfully. My time is short, and I fear I will not live past this night. Tonight, Harry will face terrible obstacles of which he has never seen. I fear he may even be forced to abandon me to save his own life. I am resolved that he will do so, even if I must force him to do so magically. Once again, I must ask too much of him, and now, too much of you. _

Here, Hermione found a few stains on the parchment and knew they had been the headmaster's tears. She read on.

_Knowing Harry as I have done, he will feel himself responsible for my death. The truth is that I have been dying for just over a year now. Forgive my lack of modesty but if not for my own prodigious skill, and willpower, this curse upon my hand would have claimed my life already. I had to remain to make sure Harry learned what he needed. But I digress. _

_ Harry will attempt to cut himself off from you, and Mr. Weasley; do not let that happen. He will undoubtedly refuse to tell you the story of what happens tonight; convince him to share it with you. He may have difficulty re-telling it. I have provided you a personal Pensieve for this very reason, much like my own. The package will contain instructions on how to use it. Harry may not be able to tell you, but he may be willing to show you. I told Harry in that broom closet outside the Burrow that he needed his friends; I confess I should have been more direct. While he certainly needs the both of you, he needs you more than anyone. _

_ You might ask, with good reason, why you and not Miss. Weasley? We both know Harry well enough that when he sets out on his task, he will end that relationship. More importantly, I am willing to guess that the relationship will not survive this ordeal. It does not have the foundation of friendship and trust that exists between you and Harry. It was you after all, who remained steadfastly by Harry's side when he had no one else. I am confident you are the one who must handle this burden; the burden to save Harry from himself. _

_ Lastly, I must apologize to you for how Harry has been treated, not only by his relatives, (which has been truly horrible), but by me as well. I know not how much you know of the summers Harry experiences, how he lived in a cupboard beneath the stairs, or the bars on his bedroom window, or the times he was verbally and physically abused. I've often asked myself why I had not taken him in. It was for his protection, Hermione, and his protection alone. I do not expect you to forgive me anymore than I expect Harry to do so. I can only hope you believe me when I say that I love Harry as my own grandson and that I despise my inability to take this burden from him. _

Hermione could feel the tears building again; not only at Dumbledore's words, but the sight of significantly more dried tear stains where Dumbledore admitted his love for Harry.

_ Harry has arrived at the stone gargoyle; so it begins. The road ahead is difficult, and we must all face the choice between what is right, and what is easy. I know my trust is well placed in you. I consider it an honor to have known you and am thankful that Harry has you in this difficult journey. _

_Goodbye, Miss. Granger. _

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. _

Hermione clutched the letter to her chest as she fell back onto her bad and wept. She wept for her best friend.

Author's Notes: This was certainly a Hermione chapter. I want to say now that I do not think Hermione is overly emotional; she's as strong willed as any of the other trio members. But to borrow her phrase, she does not have the emotional range of a teaspoon. She cares about Harry and I wanted to explore those emotions and I wanted them to be raw. The addition of bringing Fawkes back has many purposes which you'll read about soon.

Please feel free to review; I promise I have thick skin.


	3. Hermione's Surprise

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has read the story so far; I do hope the pace is not too slow for you. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and looking forward to the next. I doubt I'll have it ready before the weekend but I'll try my best.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless adults and children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment. **

**Chapter Three: Hermione's Secret**

Harry discovered the following morning from Mrs. Figg that the Dursleys were away on holiday and would not return for another three days. This was good for two reasons; he had time to figure out an excuse for his earlier than expected return and would hopefully in that time convince Hermione to refrain from visiting once the Dursleys returned. Despite the little sleep he had managed, Harry found himself wide awake in anticipation for Hermione's promised arrival. He was nervous about Hermione traveling alone and was determined to convince her to at least have someone from the Order apparate with her. He also decided that he would apologize for keeping her in the dark about his summer months away from Hogwarts to balance his request.

It was just after nine when Harry heard the knock on the door that disrupted him from his thoughts. He opened the door and was surprised to see not only Hermione but Kingsley as well. Hermione was dressed very much like a muggle in a simple blue t-shirt and jeans, while Kingsley was not at all discreet and wore his usual purple robes. Hermione threw her arms around him and pulled him into a tight squeeze. Kingsley smiled and was the first to speak.

"Good morning, Harry," he said. "Might we intrude for a moment?" Harry invited them in.

"I wasn't expected you," said Harry looking at Kingsley once Hermione had released him.

"Well, Miss. Granger contacted the Order and told us what she wanted to do. We agreed it wouldn't be wise for her to apparate by herself given the destination in question. As it were, I have some things to discuss with you before we arrange for your final departure from this place." Harry nodded and invited them to sit at the kitchen table.

"I'm glad you told the Order before coming here on your own," said Harry, speaking to Hermione. "I still don't think it's a good idea, but I can at least relax a little knowing you're with someone from the Order."

"Harry, did you honestly think I wouldn't have a plan for this," asked Hermione. Harry was quick to pick up the sarcasm in her voice and felt slightly embarrassed for doubting her judgment.

"I know," he said quietly. "I was just worried is all."

"Harry," she said, taking his hand briefly, "all you do is worry." Kingsley gave a short chuckle before continuing on.

"Firstly, you'll be happy to know we have thoroughly checked over Grimmuald Place and re-established safe guards over the premises. As you know, Dumbledore was the secret keeper and the Fidelius Charm remains even after the caster dies, so no one other than Snape would be able to gain entry. We have taken steps to prevent this, and it is unlikely he will be able to regain entry." Kingsley paused here, perhaps knowing that Dumbledore's death was still very fresh in Harry's mind. Harry didn't comment on this, but nodded all the same.

"As such, the Order believes a new Fidelius Charm should be performed soon and we are all in agreement that charm should be performed by yourself as the rightful owner of Grimmuald Place."

"I've never performed that charm," said Harry quickly. "I'm not yet of age either, so I can't perform magic."

"The Order had your trace removed," said Kingsley. "I convinced the Minister of Magic the importance of such and took care of the liberty myself. It's too risky to wait until you're seventeen. You-Know-Who already has spies in the ministry and they could easily use the trace to get a more exact location of this house. As for performing the Fidelius Charm, it's simple enough and I'm sure Miss. Granger would be happy to assist you in learning it."

"So that means I can do magic now," asked Harry.

"It does, but our laws still apply, Harry," said Kingsley. "Magic in the presence of muggles apart from life and death situations is illegal." Harry smiled at Hermione and then noticed the package she had brought with her. Hermione answered his curious gaze.

"We'll get to it," she said simply.

"That leaves us with your extraction plan," said Kinglsey. "The Ministry does not expect us to move you until your birthday, and it is likely that You-Know-Who is expecting this as well. It would be extremely foolish to wait until that time so we will be moving you at the end of the week. I won't go into details at the moment as they are still being worked out. We've also made plans for relocating your relatives to a safe location, as the protection will cease and this house will no longer be safe. I trust these plans are to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you," said Harry.

"Very well," said Kinglsey. "That is all I have for you at the moment. We have a few Order members in the vicinity, so you need not worry while you are inside. Any activity will be acted upon quickly. All the same, keep your wands ready and be mindful. I'll return just after five to fetch Miss. Granger." Kinglsey bid them farewell as we walked onto the street and was gone on the turn of his heel.

"So what's inside the package," asked Harry.

"I'll explain shortly, but let's go to your room first," said Hermione. "It's best not to be out in the open." Together they walked up the stairs and into Harry's bedroom. Hermione quickly cast a silencing spell and a few others he'd never seen before.

"I'm always amazed by the number of spells you know," said Harry. "I don't know how you have time to learn them all when you spend so much time looking after me." Hermione smiled.

"Someone has to learn them to protect you," she said. "It may as well be me."

"Hermione, I'm, um, well – I'm sorry I didn't tell you, you know, about the Dursleys."

"It's alright," admitted Hermione. "I was a bit over-emotional last night and I shouldn't have hit you like I did. I'm sorry, but you can be awfully stubborn and infuriating."

"Hermione, why didn't you bring Ron along?"

"You'll see Ron in a week, Harry; you'll both survive that long. Besides, I have work for you to do and you won't be nearly as attentive with him here." He had to admit Hermione was right.

"So what's in the package?" Hermione smiled as she removed the loose wrappings and revealed the Pensieve. Harry could hardly believe it. It was not as large as Dumbledore's had been but it was still more than a large dinner plate and glistened in the same reflective silver.

"Hermione, where did you get that?"

"I'm not sure where to start," said Hermione. "I can still hardly believe it at all. You should sit down, Harry." Harry did what he was told, his confusion increasing with each passing moment. Hermione placed the Pensieve on Harry's desk and sat down beside him on the bed.

"This arrived at my house last night," said Hermione slowly. "When we got home last night my parents wanted to know everything about you, Harry." She paused and considered him for a moment intently before continuing. "I told them as much as I could, everything that was important to me." Harry felt his heart stop.

"You told them about the prophecy," asked Harry, alarmed.

"Not in any detail, no," answered Hermione. "They don't know anything except that it's you who has to beat him. I've told them nothing that isn't in the prophet. It's everything Voldemort already knows. Like I said; I told them everything that was important to me."

"But, Hermione, they're in danger now," said Harry vehemently.

"They're in no more danger than they were before, Harry," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "They helped me understand that last night. They're in danger simply by being my parents. Just like you, there are Order members watching my house too. So please, Harry, save some worry for yourself."

"What did you tell them, then?"

Hermione gave him a quick summary of her conversation with her parents. Everything from the troll of Halloween night to Department of Mysteries and more.

"I can't believe they're letting you come here knowing how much danger I've put you in," said Harry. He was astounded by everything she had shared with her parents; it reminded him just how much danger he had placed her in.

"I put myself in danger, Harry," Hermione argued. "Not you. I choose to follow you. I wanted to follow you. You need to stop blaming yourself. You're my friend and I'll follow you to the end." Harry felt very conscious in that moment, distinctly aware that he was close to shedding a few tears. He quickly dried his eyes, knowing Hermione would see and found it didn't seem to bother him as much as he thought it might.

"You still haven't explained how you got the Pensieve."

"I was getting there," said Hermione. She pulled out a piece of folded parchment from the front pocket of her jeans. She hesitated a moment as though reconsidering her decision but handed Harry the folded parchment a second later. Harry unfolded the parchment and could not believe what he read. A few parts had been difficult to discern as it appeared the parchment had been wet in several places. He suspected they were Hermione's dried tears. Harry had to fight back his own tears as he read several times over the line where Dumbledore acknowledged Harry as a grandson. He let the letter fall to his bed as the headmaster's words washed over him. Before he realized it Hermione had wrapped her arms around him. They stayed that way for several minutes.

"I'm sorry you had to see this, Hermione," said Harry. "Being my friend hasn't been easy, has it?"

"I wouldn't trade it for a moment," said Hermione seriously.

"Can I ask you something, Hermione?"

"Of course you can."

"Why didn't you ever leave me?" Harry was surprised at how easy the question came, but even more surprised at how much it hurt just imagining if she had. Hermione smiled.

"Let me show you," said Hermione. She led him to the Pensieve and flicked her wand over its glassy surface. She then held her wand to her temple, just as Dumbledore had often done in front of him, pulled away a silver substance that clung to the tip of her wand and flicked the memory into the Pensieve. She had of course mastered non-verbal spells during the last school term and Harry could not help but remember he was in the presence of the most brilliant witch he'd ever known. She then tapped the Pensieve with her wand and it doubled in size.

"I didn't know you could perform an engorgement charm on an item like this," said Harry.

"Dumbledore did the same with his," answered Hermione. "He told me in the instructions he provided. I'll teach you how to use it when we've finished." Harry nodded.

"Are you sure, Hermione," asked Harry looking at the Pensive a bit nervously. "These are your memories."

"Yes, now let's go," she said, grabbing his hand. Together they plunged their faces into the liquid surface.

They were in a corridor at Hogwarts; that much was immediately clear. Before Harry had time to take in his exact location they were overran by a large crowd of young Gryffindors all making their way towards the Great Hall.

"This way, Harry," said Hermione as she guided him by the hand. "Look." She pointed to a first year Harry and Ron. It dawned on Harry just what he was about to see.

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," said the young Ron, his expression quite terrible. "She's a nightmare, honestly." Harry found himself squeezing Hermione's hand. Guilt stabbed at his chest; why hadn't he said anything? He knew what it was like to not have friends.

Sure enough Hermione had barreled straight between them with tears in her eyes.

"I think she heard you," said the young Harry. Harry wanted to punch himself as much as the younger Harry.

"So," had been Ron's response. "She must've noticed she's got no friends."

Harry knew this memory well; they had gone to their next class and thereafter gone to the Great Hall and ate dinner without worrying in the slightest where Hermione had run off too. But as this was Hermione's memory, Harry followed the young Hermione down a separate corridor until she disappeared into the girl's bathroom. Hermione led him to the bathroom door as she made to follow her younger self.

"Um, Hermione, there might be other girls in here," Harry quickly protested.

"Were there any other girls in here when you and Ron came to find me?" Harry shook his head. There hadn't been. So he followed Hermione into the girl's lavatory and heard for the first time the cries of young Hermione. They were terrible. Harry's heart sank. Harry wanted to leave and tried to do so but Hermione gripped his hand more firmly.

"I need you to watch this, Harry," she said. "This is a painful memory for me but also a happy one." It was difficult to listen to the young Hermione as the minutes passed. Of course Harry knew it had been hours back then. Gradually the crying subsided into abrupt sniffles.

"I'm so stupid," came the young Hermione's voice from behind the bathroom stall. "I'll never have any friends because I can't keep my big fat mouth shut. I'm not surprised about Ronald Weasley – he can't handle a girl being better than him. But Harry Potter – he's no better. He just lets them do it."

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach give way under an immense pressure. Just as Harry turned to apologize to Hermione the bathroom door opened and the mountain troll had stumbled in, his club upsetting its already terrible balance. Harry's instincts kicked in and he quickly grabbed Hermione and pushed her out of the way.

"Harry, we're not in danger; it's a memory."

"Right," said Harry. He moved beside Hermione and placed an arm around her and watched the memory play out. Just moments after the troll had entered as if on cue, young Harry, followed by young Ron, scrambled into the bathroom and began their ridiculous attack on the troll. Harry had to admit he remembered the event much differently. From his new perspective he had to admit they had been quite foolhardy and extremely lucky. He had to admit he had no idea what the younger Harry hoped to accomplish by jumping on to the back of a creature three times his height. They watched as Ron performed the levitation spell that had ultimately knocked the troll out.

"Hermione, what is it you want me to see," asked Harry. "I know this is where we became friends, but I doubt you brought me in here for a simple stroll down memory lane." Hermione pointed to her younger self. Young Hermione stared at young Harry, her eyes still red from the hours of crying. He watched as the young witch's expression turned from sadness to admiration and for one brief moment Harry thought he saw a flicker of affection.

"I don't remember you looking like that," admitted Harry as the memory began to change.

"That's the day Harry Potter became my friend," said Hermione. They were now beneath the trapdoor of the third floor corridor. They were standing around an unconscious Ron after the chess battle.

"But Harry – what if You-Know-Who's with him," the young Hermione asked.

"Well—I was lucky once, wasn't I," said young Harry, pointing to his scar. "I might get lucky again." Harry watched as the young witch's lip trembled and threw her arms around the younger him. He had to admit it had often been this way, just the two of them before the final plunge.

"Harry – you're a great wizard, you know," said young Hermione.

"I'm not as good as you," said the young Harry.

"Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and –oh Harry—be careful!" The younger Harry swallowed his potion and walked through the flames into the last chamber, but Harry hadn't bothered to watch his younger self go. He had his eyes on young Hermione, who despite her best efforts could not keep the tears at bay.

Again the memory changed: This time a much older Hermione stood before him in one of the rooms at Grimmauld Place. Harry was quick to recognize she was quite upset and even angry. Dumbledore was also in the room, his expression quite stern.

"You can't keep him in the dark," shouted Hermione. "You've no right!"

"Miss. Granger, I assure you it is for his safety," countered the headmaster. "There are circumstances of which you are not aware and Harry is safer where he is."

"When has keeping him in the dark ever kept him safe," she retorted. Harry was beside himself. Never in his wildest dreams could Hermione have ever done this to a professor, much less the headmaster. "Need I remind you of third year? Harry went looking for Sirius because no one gave him answers and he found out in the most horrid way."

"This is nothing like that, I assure you," continued the headmaster. "And I must insist you not write to him in case the owls might be intercepted."

"You can't stop me from writing," said Hermione. "Have you forgotten second year as well? Did you know that Ron and his brothers had to pull bars of his window to get him away from that horrid place? And that whole time he thought Ron and I had abandoned him. I won't do it."

Harry had never known Dumbledore to relent; indeed his past experiences where that when Dumbledore made up his mind he was rather like an impenetrable fortress, the once exception having been the night he had shared the prophecy with Harry. It turned out that Hermione had managed some success in convincing the old wizard.

"Very well, Miss. Granger, you have made your point," said Dumbledore. "You may write to Harry, but you cannot inform him of anything happening here at headquarters. That is my final word. And I shall know if you have." He turned on his heels with his robes swishing slightly as he made his way to the door. Before he left however, he turned again to face a still fuming Hermione.

"I'm glad that Harry has a friend like you," he said as the stern face lightened and the familiar benign smile returned with the twinkling of his eyes behind his spectacles. Again the room swirled and another memory sprang up. This memory was recent. He was standing atop the stairs overlooking Hermione and himself as they sat at the bottom stair. Hermione's charmed birds flew whimsically around her. Harry had his arm around her. He didn't pay attention to the conversation as he knew it quite well. He watched as Ron and Lavender stumbled in upon them and as Hermione had charged her birds to attack Ron as he fled from the corridor.

Gradually the memory faded and Harry felt the familiar feeling of weightlessness as he was pulled from the Pensieve. Nothing was said immediately. Hermione simply smiled at him though there were a few tears lingering in her eyes. He grabbed her with both arms and held her tight.

"I didn't know I meant that much to you," said Harry. "I've never been very good at seeing it, but I never should have doubted it. I'm so sorry, Hermione." Hermione held him just as tightly.

"I'm sorry I tried to push you away too," said Harry. "You have no idea what you mean to me. What Ron means to me."

"Show me," said Hermione.

"I don't know that I'm ready too, Hermione."

"I suppose not," said Hermione. "I didn't think you would be. Can I make a request?"

"Sure."

"Can I see the memory of when you walked through those flames our first year?"

"I dunno, Hermione," said Harry. "I'm not exactly proud of what happened then."

"Harry, you're being ridiculous," said Hermione. "You stopped Voldemort from returning to power, you saved the Sorcerer's stone, you—"

"I'm not talking about that," said Harry quickly. "I'm not proud of what I almost did. And now I see a little of how you see me, and I'm afraid I'd disappoint you."

"Please, Harry," said Hermione. "I will never think less of you." Trembling, he lowered his head and mumbled.

"Okay."

"Thank you, Harry," she said. "Take out your wand," she instructed. "Hold the tip to your temple, concentrate on the memory, and say the incantation: _subsidium memoria_

Harry did as he was told and no sooner felt the oddest sensation in his brain.

"Good, Harry," coached Hermione. "Now, slowly pull your wand away from your head, concentrating on the specific memory. As Harry did this the sensation grew more acute to that of tickling his brain. Finally, the memory clung to the tip of his wand.

"Now just a slight wrist movement like so," she said demonstrating a very small flicking motion. Harry copied her and the memory fell into the Pensieve.

"Shall we," she asked, taking his hand again. For the second time they descended into memory. They were standing behind the young Harry, surprised it had not been Snape trying to steal the stone. They watched as the Voldemort's voice echoed the chamber, his command to use Harry to get the stone. They watched the young and fearful Harry look into the Mirror of Erised, as he lied to Quirrell about what he'd seen.

"Can you see it," Harry asked Hermione, pointing to the young Harry's pocket. It was suddenly a little fuller than before.

"See," said Hermione playfully. "You are a great wizard." They continue to watch as Voldemort appeared at the back of Quirrell's head. Hermione gasped; this was the first time she had ever seen Voldemort. They watched as Voldemort tempted Harry with bringing back his parents if he were to hand over the stone. Hermione looked from the Harry beside her and the young Harry facing Voldemort. Both wizards had the same wishful longing look. She watched as the young Harry briefly brought the stone from his pocket. It had only lasted a moment, before young Harry shouted in defiance.

"Never!"

Harry closed his eyes; he did not need to relive his memories. But he did wait; the memory was clearly important to Hermione so he struggled through the screaming of both his and Quirell's agony when Quirrell had tried to kill him. He knew that Quirrell would die as a result of attempting to carry out Voldemort's command. Eventually the memory faded and again they were pulled from the Pensieve.

"Oh Harry," shrieked Hermione, throwing her arms around him again as Harry's room came into focus again, "Harry, I don't think any less of you, not one bit," she sobbed. "That was a cruel thing what he did, to tempt you like that."

"I should have known better," said Harry. Hermione took both hands and placed them on either side of Harry's face, locking themselves eye to eye. "Why can't you see what I see? You didn't give in. All I saw was the greatest, bravest wizard in the world."

Author's Notes: I'll admit it – I took the movie version of Sorcerer's Stone because I thought it would indeed make Harry more human to see the temptation of having his parents brought back. In general, I plan to keep with book cannon though. You'll notice I did use a few verbatim quotes from Sorcerer's Stone with the troll memory. That is Rowling's work and I would never dream of taking credit for it.

I also thought a confrontation between Dumbledore and Hermione would be a lot of fun. I don't think such a confrontation would be out of her character. Now, allowing Ron Weasley to slide back into her romantic life after his little tantrum and abandonment – I'm not convinced.

Please review, and if you should find any typos, please let me know. I try to catch them all but I'm also trying to get some story up.


	4. Return to Riddle Manor

Author's Notes: Thank you all for the reviews and the follows, and of course, the favorites.

This is another memory chapter, but it's the last one for some time. I do hope the story's pace is not to slow for you and I promise things will pick up very soon. I don't want anyone thinking that Harry is emo, or self-destructive – that's not my Harry. This Harry is feeling terrible guilt about Dumbledore's death, as we all would, I think. He keeps things inside. He never told anyone about the cave and I don't think he would have been capable in expressing just what he believed about himself in regards to his "bravery" that everyone idolized him for. That's one of the reasons this story is different from DH. In the books, the only person apart from Dumbledore who would have seen Harry for who he is would be Hermione. Ron demonstrated his inability to separate Harry from the Boy-Who-Lived during his bout of jealously both in GOF and DH. (I know, the horcrux certainly brought out the worst in Ron, but I think like the mirror or Erised, a content and happy person would not have had such vulnerability to the horcrux locket—the eleven year old Harry could likely have worn it with little trouble as opposed to seventeen year old Harry, who, with several years of experience now, had far more demons to contend with—even still, it affected him least of the three).

As before, I have used some verbatim lines from Sorcerer's stone and Goblet of Fire – they are not mine.

Lastly – feel free to review.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment. **

**Chapter Four: Return to Riddle Manor**

"Are you ready, Harry," asked Hermione, placing the Pensieve on Harry's desk after lunch. Harry felt more apprehensive than yesterday. Before she had left that evening, Hermione told him of her request to see those memories from his childhood before and during Hogwarts. While Harry did not look forward to reliving those moments, he was more nervous about her second request: the night Voldemort had returned. He knew Hermione saw him as brave; the memory would shatter that image. Perhaps that's why he relented in the end. He needed her to know that the Boy-Who-Lived was not the courageous man she believed him to be.

"Remember," she said instructively, "think about the memories as you extract them – by doing them all at once we can simply watch them in succession like yesterday." Harry nodded as he repeated the extraction spell several times, gently flicking each memory into the Pensieve. A quarter hour later he had deposited all the memories he thought Hermione would like to see concerning his childhood. He paused however as he rested his wand tip to his temple, his thoughts now on the graveyard. He didn't notice his wand hand trembling until Hermione took it into her own to steady him.

"I know this is hard," said Hermione, "but you can't keep it inside forever. I'm not asking you to tell the world, Harry—just me—only me." Harry swallowed and concentrated on the graveyard.

"_Subsidium memoria,_" he said softly and the familiar tickling sensation washed over his brain as he pulled the memory away with his wand. Hermione still held his hand and guided him as he released the memory into the Pensieve.

"I'm so proud of you," said Hermione. "You pick up on spells much faster when you don't have any distractions."

"Only because you're a good teacher," said Harry truthfully. Hermione beamed at him. She took his hand in the same manner as before and together they took the plunge into the Pensieve.

They were standing the Dursley's living room; Vernon sat in his recliner as the television flashed in front of him, Petunia busied herself with knitting, and Dudley played with a new toy. The young Harry in front of them sat on the floor with a small toy soldier in his hand watching Dudley with a longing expression.

"Aunt Petunia," asked young Harry abruptly as he unconsciously traced the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, "How did I get this scar on my head?"

"In a car crash when your parents died," she said annoyed. "And don't ask questions."

"What did they do," asked Harry.

"What did we say, boy," snarled Vernon who had also became annoyed at the interruption. "Don't ask questions."

**() () ()**

Vernon was yelling at a young Harry who had dropped the frying pan and spilled bacon and grease over the kitchen floor.

"You worthless boy," he shouted. "Do you have any idea how hard your aunt Petunia works to keep this kitchen clean?"

"Yes, uncle Vernon," muttered Harry to the floor and avoiding his uncle's furious gaze. "It was an accident."

"You'll clean this kitchen top to bottom, do you understand?"

"Don't I always," asked the young Harry, unable to resist.

"When you've finished you go straight to the cupboard. No meals for you today. Perhaps that'll teach you to pay attention and be more grateful."

**() () ()**

Dudley's eleventh birthday. Dudley stomped and hollered about the number of his presents. Young Harry fixed breakfast. Hermione looked like she might be sick.

"Bad news, Vernon," said the angry Petunia. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She eyed young Harry with disgust. "Now what?"

"We could phone Marge," said Vernon.

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy." Harry glanced at Hermione; she looked livid. The room swirled again and now they were standing at the snake exhibit. Dudley and Vernon banged on the glass and then left disinterested. They watched Harry speak to the snake; of course Hermione could not understand because the young Harry was speaking Parseltongue. They watched as an excited Dudley ran back to the glass, shoving Harry to the pavement and he pressed his body against the glass, captivated by the now active serpent. Hermione did eventually laugh as the glass vanished and Dudley flew over the railing and fell face first into the pen's water.

**() () ()**

They were home from the zoo. Dudley was wrapped from head to foot in blankets. Vernon pulled Harry by the cuff of his neck toward the cupboard.

"Go—cupboard—stay—no meals," was all the angry Vernon could say. The room dissolved again and Harry braced himself. They were now in his room after his first year at Hogwarts. Dobby had arrived with his cryptic warning of danger, his admittance of keeping Harry's letters from him, and of course, the Hover Charm that forced Harry into his perpetual cage within his room. The room swirled and the bars on his window were plainly visible and Hedwig was locked in her cage. Vernon was fitting the door flap where he would receive food. They watched as the young Harry was slipped food through the door flap and was only let out to use the bathroom. They watched too as Ron and his brothers, Fred and George arrived that fateful night and rescued him with a furious Vernon screaming out the window.

**() () ()**

A much older Harry and Dumbledore sat in the living room with the Dursleys while Dumbledore's conjured glasses (full of Rosmerta's Oak Matured Mead) nudged gently against the sides of the Dursely's heads. They watched as Dumbledore reprimanded them for how they had treated him and ignored the headmaster's wishes. Hermione smiled briefly with her head resting on Harry's shoulder. To outsiders, this reprimand would seem inadequate, but as Harry often felt, it was the calm demeanor of the headmaster's voice of disappointment he found more difficult to bear than any of the loud and angry rebukes he had often received from Snape. Harry had thought this would be a good memory for Hermione to see—she needed to know—just as he had to remind himself—Dumbledore meant the words in his letter. He could have shared more but he felt he had given Hermione enough to satisfy her.

**() () ()**

Everything turned dark now. Harry felt ice-cold shivers run up his spine. Hermione tightened her grip around him but was now very alert. Teenage Harry and seventh year Cedric stood in the center of the graveyard. Harry watched as his younger self read the tombstone nearest him.

"Cedric, we've got to get out of here," shouted Harry. "Back to the cup, now!" It was too late. A high-pitched voice rang over the graveyard; the command to kill was issued followed by the swift green light of the killing curse. Cedric Diggory was dead. Hermione's grip on harry was tightening by the moment.

"Hermione, I can't breathe," chocked Harry. Hermione calmed herself but she did not let go. Wormtail secured Harry against the tombstone of Riddle Senior, lit the fire of the cauldron which brought the liquid into an immediate boil and dropped the weakened form of Voldemort into the cauldron to start the dark ritual. He then took the bone from the grave beneath Harry's feet, cut off his own hand and watched it dissolve as it hit the sweltering liquid, and finally, where Wormtail sliced Harry's forearm for the final ingredient to restore his master's body. Even though they were in a memory, Harry saw the fear wash over Hermione's face. Terrible though it was, Harry was glad to see she comprehended just how horrible this memory was about to become.

Voldemort rose from the cauldron as Wormtail collapsed on the ground clutching his amputated arm. A brief but shrill breathe escaped Hermione. Harry knew this was the first time she had ever seen Voldemort. The Dark Lord examined himself as Wormtail pleaded to his master for help. Voldemort did not oblige of course; rather, he reached for Wormatail's left arm and pressed the Dark Mark that was tattooed to his flesh so many year ago. One by one, the Death Eaters returned and Voldemort told his tale of abandonment and his struggle to return to power. Hermione gasped as he performed the Cruciatus Curse on one of his own Death Eaters and restored Wormtail's hand. Then, Voldemort turned to Harry, welcoming him with a mocking tone in his voice. Voldemort then used the first of several Cruciatus Curses on him, which forced Hermione to bury her face into Harry's chest as the screams of the younger Harry filled the graveyard.

Hermione choked back tears while the young Harry was reunited with his wand as he prepared to duel Voldemort.

"You've been taught to duel, Harry Potter," asked the Dark Lord. "We bow to each other, Harry. Come, the niceties must be observed—Dumbledore would like you to show manners—bow to death, Harry." Voldemort made a swift motion with his wand and the young Harry bowed. Voldemort used a second Cruciatus Curse and Harry's screams were more intense than the last.

"That hurt, didn't it, Harry—you don't want me to do that again, do you? Answer me! _Imperio_!"

It had been the one place Harry had shown any prowess in that duel; he refused the curse. As Voldemort prepared to curse him again, Harry had flung his body behind the tombstone of Voldemort's father. Voldemort taunted him. The young Harry breathed hard, heavy, and fast, his eyes wide in fear as he hid behind the tombstone.

This was how Harry remembered the graveyard: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, cowering before Lord Voldemort—no brave charge into flames, no valiant sword thrust into the open jaws of a Basilisk, no determined push against a hundred Dementors—just a scared, helpless teen-aged boy without hope, about to die.

They watched as young Harry closed his eyes and took one last heavy breath. It was then that Hermione saw the emotion on the young wizard's face; it was not the confident look she had always imagined it to be, nor was it the defiant, stubborn one she was all too familiar with—the young Harry's eyes could not have been clearer—he had resigned himself to his fate.

The wands connected a moment later; _Priori Incantatem_ played out before them as one-by-one the recent victims of Voldemort erupted from his wand, each shielding Harry from view. Hermione sobbed as Harry's mother and father spoke with him.

Hermione did not look at the young Harry anymore; rather, she had thrown her arms around him had started to whisper in his ear how proud she was of him. She had realized what Harry was trying to do; he wanted her to see the Harry that no one knew. She had never allowed herself to be taken away by the Boy-Who-Lived—she had only known him as Harry, but the brave Harry none-the-less. Now she saw the vulnerable Harry—the real Harry—the Harry who didn't believe in himself. She knew in that moment she had been granted a special knowledge that no one—Ginny, Ron, Sirius, or possibly even Dumbledore—had ever known. It was a revelation; his humbleness and his disdain for those who tried to honor and celebrate him had been the result of being unable to see himself as other's had—as she had.

"Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared, Harry," she whispered in his ears, both of them no longer paying any attention to the memory they were in. They were unaware they had returned to the grounds of Hogwarts with young Harry and Cedric. "Bravery is facing your fears and you are a brave wizard—a brave man."

"I wish that were true, Hermione," said Harry. Hermione held him tighter, desperate to bring him closer, wanting him to somehow feel what she couldn't put into words. She remembered the feast that had followed that terrible night in the Great Hall. She was surprised when the Pensieve obliged her and they found themselves transported to the Great Hall. Dumbledore stood before them, his hand gestured openly to young Harry's seat.

"He risked his own life to return Cedric's body back to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him."

Harry shook his head defiantly. "I'm not half the man you think I am, Hermione—I'm not half the man Dumbledore believed me to be either."

"I want to see it, Harry," she said no longer whispering in his ears. "Something terrible happened that night with Dumbledore, I know it. Please Harry; help me understand your pain—I can't help if you don't let me in." Harry shook his head. "I know Dumbledore would want me too—but I can't—I don't want you to see it—to see me—that way. If I'd been braver, stronger, I could've—"

They had returned to the darkness of Harry's room. Hermione whispered again and again in his ears as Harry felt her tears against the skin of his neck and the dampening of his shirt.

_It wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault…_


	5. The Fidelius Charm

Author's Notes: thanks everyone for the reviews! You are all wonderful people. A few things to touch on:

1\. Next chapter falls in line with DH storyline - it's extraction time! I do hope everyone had enjoyed the Harry and Hermione moments. As I said previously, this will not be a fast relationship, so if you're hoping to see sparks fly in the next few chapters I must disappoint you.

2\. The Fidelius Charm - not a lot of details regarding the specifics of the charm itself, so I've taken some liberties about how it works. Hope you like it.

3\. A reader pointed out to me that Harry has indeed met Hermione's parents, in Chamber of Secrets during a visit to Diagon Alley - I sincerely apologize for that oversight - I completely forgot. I'll be making a slight correction when I have the opportunity but thought I'd get this chapter out for you before doing so.

4\. As always, please feel free to review and if you notice any typos, let me know. I'll be making a couple corrections to earlier chapters as well in that regard.

**Chapter Five: The Fidelius Charm**

Hermione arrived at number Four, Private Drive earlier than usual the following day; dawn to be precise as her thunderous knocking and Hedwig's loud screeching woke Harry.

"Blimey, Hermione, why so early," he mumbled as he answered the door. He noticed Lupin standing at the sidewalk as he gave Harry a quick wave and beaming smile before he took a few steps onto the street and disapparated.

"Because we have a lot to talk about today," answered Hermione as she entered into the kitchen. She had worn her usual blue jeans but had adorned a Gryffindor red sweater in response to the cool temperature of the morning. They both sat down at the kitchen table as Harry eyed the hand bag in her hands.

"What's in the bag?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she said with a smile.

"No memory surfing today," he asked, noting the hand bag was clearly too small to fit the Pensieve.

"Not today; I thought you could use a break and honestly, so could I," answered Hermione. "But don't think we're finished," she added slyly. "You still need to show me the night with you and Dumbledore, and I still have a few memories of my own I want you to see. Before we get into any of that, I think we should have breakfast first." Harry watched in silent awe as Hermione's arm disappeared into her hand bag (which was a considerable feat as the bag was hardly larger than the length of her hand). A few moments later she had eggs, bacon, and a loaf of bread sitting on the kitchen table.

"Undetectable Extension Charm," said Hermione observing Harry's surprise. "Terribly tricky, but I figured it out well enough. I can teach you if you want."

"You're brilliant, Hermione," said Harry. "But what's the occasion?"

"We needed a way to carry all our things when we're traveling, and it needed to be light and go unnoticed," said Hermione.

"Not the bag, Hermione," said Harry quickly. "I mean the breakfast. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, well, I thought—after seeing how those nasty relatives of yours treated you—you should at least have a proper breakfast and one that you didn't make."

"I can help," said Harry as Hermione began to crack the eggs.

"No, Harry," replied Hermione with a wide smile. "Thank you, but I want to do this. We won't be at the Burrow long and seeing as we won't be going back to Hogwarts, who knows when we'll get another chance to have a nice breakfast together. Please, Harry, let me do this." Harry nodded and did his best to relax while Hermione prepared their breakfast.

"Here you go," she said, setting a plate down filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

"Thank you, Hermione, this is really nice." Hermione took the chair beside him.

"You know," she said after a few moments, "this reminds me of fourth year."

"How's that?"

"When it was just you and me against the world—Ron was jealous—everyone wore those hideous "Potter Stinks" badges— and that horrible Rita Skeeter writing those horrendous lies; I still get angry when I think about what Ron did to you and what the school did to you. How did you do it, Harry?"

"I had you," said Harry. "I wouldn't have made it through the first task without you. I wouldn't have made it through first year without you for that matter. Come to think of it, I'd definitely be dead without you." Hermione gave him a quick squeeze.

"You're so sweet, Harry." After breakfast, Hermione waved her wand and the dishes began to clean themselves.

"So what's the agenda today," asked Harry.

"Well, first, I thought you should know that the Order has made arrangements for your aunt and uncle. Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones will be escorting them to a safe location. I don't know where, obviously. I do know they'll be taken by muggle transport. I think Kingsley and Mad-Eye will be coming to explain things to them, and you'll probably need to help them. It would be best if they agree to go willingly, but the Order isn't taking any chances." Harry nodded.

"I may not like them," said Harry, "but I don't want them to die."

"Of course you don't," said Hermione. "I wish I could say I agree, but I'd be lying." She looked at him and Harry could see tears building in her eyes. Hermione wiped her eyes though and seemed to regain control of her emotions.

"It's alright, Hermione—I'm never coming back."

"I know. I just wish it could have been different."

"I wish a lot of things had been different," said Harry. "But it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds awfully professorial for you, Harry."

"Dumbledore told me that when he found me with the Mirror of Erised." Harry felt his cheeks stretch into a smile as he remembered asking Dumbledore what he saw when he looked in the mirror. Harry was sure Dumbledore had not been truthful with his answer. His mind turned to the heartfelt tribute that Elphius Doge had written in the Daily Prophet; Harry now had at least a few ideas what Dumbledore might have seen in that mirror. Of course, the smile didn't linger long as his thoughts wandered back to the Astronomy Tower.

"It's good to see you smile, Harry," said Hermione breaking the silence that had fallen over the table.

"Alright, so that's the Dursleys taken care of but what's the plan for me?"

"I don't know much of the details, Harry, but it sounds like you'll be side-along apparating with someone from the Order, probably Mad-Eye."

"To the Burrow, I take it?"

"Most likely," agreed Hermione. "I'm sure Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had some input on where you'd end up. Naturally, they don't know we're not going back to Hogwarts."

"Ron hasn't told them?"

"Not yet," said Hermione with a defeated tone. "I think he's planning on telling them tonight, but Ron's not exactly courageous when facing his mom. At any rate, we should probably be prepared as she certainly won't approve. You know how she gets; we're still children to her."

"Fair enough," said Harry. "I'd probably have a hard time telling Mrs. Weasley too, if I were Ron."

"Lucky for us you aren't, so that won't be a problem."

"So what else—you didn't wake me up at the crack of dawn for just an update."

"Of course not," said Hermione. "I thought that today we could begin by sorting through your things and decide what you will be taking and what you'll be leaving behind. Also, Remus will be stopping by this afternoon to take us both to Grimmuald Place so you can perform the Fidelius Charm." Harry nodded as they left the kitchen and scoured his tiny room. Hermione quickly helped him separate his things into two piles. They had agreed he no longer needed his old school robes, or his Quidditch robes, and had likewise decided they only needed one potion cauldron, so Harry's was also left behind. The Invisibility Cloak and his Firebolt were a no-brainer. Hermione thought it best to salvage his left over potion ingredients and add them to hers while also making the case he didn't need any of his school books since she had her own and then some. Lastly, they came to Harry's photo album which Harry immediately said he was keeping. Hermione quickly picked up the album and started to flip through the pages.

"Harry, this is wonderful," she said as her eyes moved up and down each photo. "Where did you get this?"

"Hagrid gave it to me at the end of first year—he worked really hard to get photos from people who knew them at Hogwarts and after."

"That is so sweet—and your mom is so pretty, Harry. I know why you like a certain redhead now." She looked up at him with a slim smile. "And you look like your dad, except—"

"Yes, I know," said Harry, "I have my mother's eyes."

"They look so in love, Harry, and happy. Even though their lives were in danger, they didn't stop living. Courage certainly runs in the Potter family." Harry sat down beside her and watched his parents dancing in a park square. Hermione was right; they did look happy.

"So what happens to Harry when all the horcruxes and Voldemort are destroyed," asked Hermione suddenly.

"Dunno," mumbled Harry. "I don't think I've ever given it much thought, probably because I've never wanted to get my hopes up. I know in fifth year I thought about becoming an Auror, but I'm not so sure anymore. I feel like I've already spent my entire wizarding life fighting the dark arts. It made sense I suppose. It was the only subject I ever excelled at."

"I think you'd make an excellent Auror," said Hermione, "but I think you'd make an even better teacher."

"Me? A teacher? You're barking."

"I'm serious, Harry," said Hermione. "Half our year wouldn't have passed their O.W. L. if you hadn't taught them."

"I had help," Harry reminded her.

"Harry, you're too modest," She said with a bright smile. "So maybe an Auror, or a teacher; then what?"

"Honestly I don't know."

"You'll get married, of course," she continued as though she hadn't heard him. "And then children naturally—I think you'll be a great dad someday. Ginny is a very lucky girl."

"Blimey, Hermione, what's gotten into you?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said with a sad look on her face now. "I'm just trying to help you see the small light at the end of the tunnel. We've all got to keep our eyes on it or we'll lose ourselves even if we do make it out alive."

"I guess I've just gotten used to only thinking about Voldemort and looking over my shoulders, so it's hard to think about anything like getting married. As far as Ginny goes, I think Dumbledore was right."

"What do you mean," she asked. "You do like her, don't you?"

"I do, I mean I did," Harry sputtered. "But I've been thinking about what Dumbledore wrote and I think about how little I know her. It's been like living in a dream, really. It was foolish in the first place, starting anything with her, knowing what I have to do. The more I think about it the more I realize how guarded I am with her. I think about my own mom and dad knowing that they probably never kept anything from each other and that's not the case with Ginny and I."

"Dumbledore doesn't know everything Harry," said Hermione.

"No, but I think he's right about Ginny. When I ended it, some of the things she said made me think that she still sees me as the Boy-Who-Lived."

"I think you two just need time," said Hermione. Harry shrugged.

"What about you then, Hermione?"

"Well," said Hermione beaming again, "I will go back to Hogwarts and finish my N.E.W.T.s; I don't think it'd be proper not too. I've thought about my work with S.P. E. W. and I think I'd like to continue with that kind of work. That means I'll probably work for the ministry in some way.

"I think you'll be brilliant at whatever you do, Hermione," said Harry honestly.

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione.

"So are you and Ron, you know, together now," he asked with a smirk.

"Oh I don't know," she said exasperatedly. "He still hasn't made any effort to ask me properly and yet the way he acts it's as though I'm already his."

"But you like him, don't you?"

"Yes I do, Harry," said Hermione. "But he hurt me too and I need to work that out still."

"I can try to put him on the right track, if you'd like?"

"Thank you, Harry, but no," said Hermione. "I want him to figure it out on his own. If he truly cares about me that way then he will have to pluck up the courage and ask me properly."

"Well I think you'll make some man very lucky someday," said Harry. "And you're right," he said pointing to the photo of his parents again, "they were happy. They had each other and that must have been enough." Hermione smiled and gave him a strong one-armed hug.

"They had you too, Harry," said Hermione. "And now we have each other—you and I, and Ron—we're in this together." They spent the next several minutes looking through the remainder of the photo album, pausing occasionally when Hermione would comment on how pretty Harry's mother had been.

"I think we need to add a few more photos," said Hermione as she came to the last page. "Before we leave we should take some photos of the three of us, and probably the Weasley family, you and Ginny—maybe a few of the Order members—everyone that's fighting Voldemort."

"I think I'd like that," said Harry.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Back on the train, I meant every word," she said. "You know that don't you?" Harry nodded.

"So no more trying to push us away?"

"No Hermione, I think I know a lost cause when I see one."

"Good," she said. Her smile was the widest yet of the morning and her eyes brightened considerably. "Because you would lose—after all, I am the brightest witch you know."

"Who told you that," asked Harry playfully.

"The kindest wizard in the world," said Hermione pressing a finger into his chest softly.

**() () ()**

Once Harry and Hermione had finished putting all of Harry's things into a rucksack (excluding his wand, just in case), they moved back down to the kitchen table to have lunch and discussed what their first plan of action was going to be once they left the Burrow. Harry did feel a little guilty about making plans without Ron, but Hermione was quick to point out that they would review everything with him when they arrived at the Burrow.

"I think we should have as much packed and ready to go as possible, in case we have to leave unexpectedly," said Hermione. "You shouldn't need anything from your rucksack while you're at the burrow, except some of your clothes obviously. We won't want to have robes when we're traveling about either. It would draw too much attention especially among muggles. Once we get to the

Burrow I can put your things into my bag."

"You've outdone yourself, Hermione," said Harry.

"Well, Remus should be here soon, and I need to teach you the Fidelius Charm."

"Oh, right, I forgot about that," said Harry.

"I'm sure you'll be able to get the hang of it quickly as it isn't a complicated spell. What's important is the intent when you make it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as you know, the Fidelius Charm's purpose is to conceal something from being seen, detected, plotted, or otherwise discovered. That's the role of the caster; he or she is the only vessel capable of revealing the concealed item to anyone. When casting the spell, you have to concentrate on the object it its entirety. It isn't enough, for example, to think of only the building's location to hide, but also to hide anything that is inside it. In other words, if you're only thought was to hide Grimmauld Place, but didn't think about who was going to be in there, or what's stored inside, then it's possible that other's would see everything inside the house, but not the house itself."

"I see what you mean," said Harry nervously. "I'm not sure I can do that."

"Yes, you can," said Hermione. "We'll practice before Remus arrives. I've brought a few objects with me to practice on. Hermione reached into her hand bag and retrieved three small wooden boxes. She opened each one and saw that they all contained a necklace resting on red velvet lining.

"Now, take out your wand, point at the object, concentrating on the object itself, as well as the contents inside it. When you're ready, flick your wand in a whip-like motion, like this," said Hermione giving him a demonstration, "and say _Fidelis_." Harry did as he was instructed but his first results were not at all what he was expecting. Nothing happened. He still saw the box plainly in front of him.

"Not bad for your first try, Harry," said Hermione.

"What are you talking about," replied Harry. "The box is still there—nothing happened!"

"Harry, the box is gone, so is the necklace, but I'm afraid the red velvet lining is still visible."

"But I did just like you said."

"Well, I think you were concentrating on the box itself, and the necklace, which are completely invisible to me. Let's try it again. This time, don't think specifically about the necklace, but think about hiding everything inside the box." Harry nodded and tired again.

"Perfect Harry," said Hermione excitedly. "Now before we go on to the next one, I want you to take this necklace, and put it inside the second box." Harry again did as Hermione instructed and placed the second necklace in the box.

"Just like I thought," said Hermione. "I can see the second necklace, but nothing else. One more try then, this time, think about wanting to hide anything, or anyone who wants to get inside that box."

"_Fidelis_," said Harry, flicking his wand at the third box. It was an odd sensation, to Harry, to perform a spell in which the effects he could not see. Hermione gave him another piece of jewelry, a ring this time. Harry put it in the box.

"You did it," shouted Hermione. "I can't see anything. I think you'll be alright casting the charm."

"But these are just boxes," said Harry quickly, "and I've got to hide a house."

"And everything inside," responded Hermione. "Just think about what you did with the third box—you didn't think about any object in particular, you thought about whatever might go into the box, and that's all you need to do."

"I'm still not sure about this, but I'll give it my best shot."

"Now, before Remus gets here, let's see if you can share the location of the boxes with me. All you need to do is tell me where the boxes are, and I should be able to see them again.

"The location of all three jewelry boxes can be found on the kitchen table of Number Four, Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Oh, Harry, I'm so proud of you," she said picking up the boxes. She tossed them back into the handbag and beamed at Harry.

"Hermione, you're the one who should be a teacher," said Harry.

"Maybe someday when I've had more real-world experiences."

It was a few minutes later when Remus arrived. He looked exhausted.

"Harry, good to see you," said Remus, shaking his hand. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, I think so," said Harry.

"And I take it Hermione has successfully taught you the charm?"

"Yes, he had it on his third try," said Hermione.

"Excellent. Let's be off then." Remus led them down the drive and then a block down the sidewalk. He took Harry by his left and Hermione on his right and Harry once again felt the tugging sensation followed almost immediately by slight nausea. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place stood before them.

"Alright, it's best we be quick about this," said Remus. "Hermione, you and Harry step up to the door and perform the charm and I'll keep watch." Harry followed Hermione up the cement steps and stood at the door.

"Remember what you just practiced Harry," coached Hermione. "When you perform the charm, make sure and have a reference in mind, such as _Harry Potter's house_, or something similar, that way when you tell someone, you have an object to reference back too." Harry nodded and concentrated. He thought of the building, it's outsides as well as its many rooms, the furniture and the pictures hanging on the walls (not intricately, but rather broadly) and lastly, he thought of his desire to keep anyone who entered into his house. He swallowed and flicked his wand at the door of Grimmauld Place.

"_Fidelis_," said Harry.

"You did it, Harry," said Hermione as she hugged him.

"Excellent," said Remus unsurprised.

"So should I tell you now?"

"Not here," said Remus. "You can whisper it to Hermione if you like, just to make sure it worked, but I'm sure it has." Harry nodded and bent over Hermione's ear and whispered the location.

"I see it," said Hermione a moment later. "Good job, Harry, I knew you could do it."

"We'd best be heading back now," said Remus. Again they took either side of Remus' outstretched arms and disapparated.

"Remus, Hermione, I don't understand something," he said as they walked back up the drive of Number Four. "If everyone already knew the location of Grimmauld Place, then won't they still know it?"

"A good question, Harry," said Remus. "When Dumbledore died, the Fidelius Charm weakened considerably as everyone within the Order became Secret Keepers themselves, and this most certainly included Snape. As Kingsley as already informed you, we took the necessary precautions and set up additional protective enchantments to prevent Snape from entering and we are sure that he hasn't entered since we took this precaution. More importantly, we only knew the location as it related to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix; as Grimmuald Place is no longer the location of the headquarters, Snape will not be able to reveal it as such."

"That's what you meant by intentionality," said Harry looking at Hermione. "I remember the note from Dumbledore; it specifically named the Order of the Phoenix."

"That was our conclusion as well," answered Remus before Hermione had a chance to speak. "As such, we still thought it necessary to have you cast a new Fidelius Charm. It is after all, your house."

"Thank you," said Harry.

"See you tomorrow, Harry," said Hermione as they came to the door.

"About tomorrow," said Harry. "I know you had planned to come here every day this week, and I've enjoyed you coming, but you should spend the last couple of days with your family. It's going to be difficult enough trying to convince the Dursleys they have to leave their house."

"Harry it really isn't any trouble," said Hermione defensively.

"Hermione, please," said Harry, quite forgetting that Remus was with them. "Family is important and you need to spend time with them. You don't know when you'll see them next."

"Won't she see them at break," asked Remus. "Anything can happen, I suppose, but Hogwarts will be among the safest places in the wizarding world, even without Dumbledore.

"We're not going back to Hogwarts," said Harry. Remus didn't seem surprised.

"Go on," he said.

"If I were to return, I don't think Voldemort would restrain himself from attacking the school especially since Dumbledore's not there anymore. I won't put students at risk like that. At any rate, I've been left a task by Dumbledore, so I wouldn't be going back anyway."

"And Ron and Hermione are going with you, is that correct?"

"Yes," said Harry. Remus nodded and turned to Hermione.

"I won't ask questions, I know you wouldn't tell me anyway," said Remus, "but gauging by the seriousness between both your expressions, I will have to agree with Harry. You should certainly spend some time with them."

"Fine," snapped Hermione. She gave Harry one last hug and whispered in his ear.

_"Please stay safe." _Harry smiled and gave her a reassuring hug back.

"_I will_," Harry whispered back. He waited just inside the door as she and Remus made their way back to the end of the block and disappear from sight as dusk settled.


	6. Goodbye Dursleys

Sorry for the long delay, everyone. This was a long chapter and since we're into the DH story line I've found it a little difficult to retell the events while still changing up enough to make it new. There are a couple small changes, mostly toward the end. As always, thanks to everyone for the reviews and follows.

It's my intention to post a chapter a week from here on out. I do hope you'll stay along for the ride as I do have a few upcoming chapters I'm excited for you to read that I think really augment the DH events. Not a lot of Harry and Hermione interaction in this chapter but I'll remind you that this is a slow development. Don't worry - they do have a good moment in this chapter.

Thanks for reading!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless adults and children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment. **

**Chapter Six: Goodbye Dursleys**

"BOY!"

Harry gave a deep sigh as his uncle's voice carried up the stairs. Uncle Vernon had been more on edge than Harry had ever remembered. His relatives had been furious when they discovered that he had arrived at their doorstep early and were if anything, more livid about the fact that he had as Vernon put it, _violated the sovereignty of their house_ by letting himself in without their permission. The meeting between the Dursleys, Kingsley, and Mr. Weasley had also been quite the chore. Hours passed as they tried over and over to convince the Dursleys their lives were in danger. As they wouldn't hear a word from Harry, it was left to Kingsley and Mr. Weasley to persuade them. Since then, Harry had spent the last four days rehashing the same arguments every time Vernon had changed his mind. Tonight was the night they were due to depart, and Harry was willing to bet as he came into the kitchen that Vernon had changed his mind yet again.

"Sit down, I want a word," said Vernon, his face growing steadily more purple with each word. Harry on the other hand, did not sit. In past summers, Harry would have obeyed his uncle or aunt's commands, but he had changed considerably over the past several days, in large part due to Dumbledore's passing and the weight of his task bearing down upon him with each wasted day at the Dursleys.

"Please," added Vernon with great effort. Surprised to hear such a word from his uncle, Harry sat at the kitchen table.

"I've changed my mind," said Vernon. "I don't believe a word of this—this claptrap."

"Here we go again," said Harry shrugging his shoulders.

"Don't use that tone," screeched his aunt. Vernon shot her a quick look and waved her down.

"I was up late last night—couldn't sleep—thinking it all over—and it came to me," said Vernon as though on the verge of an epiphany. "I think it's a plot to get the house!"

"This house," asked Harry incredulously.

"Yes, _this_ house," barked Vernon. "Prices are skyrocketing in this neighborhood, and I think it's all an elaborate scheme to get us away on holiday while you or your freakish lot pull some hocus pocus and your name will be on the deed!"

"I already have a house," said Harry. "Why would I want this one—all the happy memories?" He glared between his uncle and aunt.

"You'd sell it for your own gain," said Vernon.

"I have plenty of money," said Harry. "I have a vault at Gringotts containing a small fortune—I think I'll manage."

"Alright," said Vernon waving his portly hands. "This say—Lord Thingy—the one who killed your folks—you claim he's back and that we're in danger—"

"We've been through this already," said Harry losing his patience. "Mr. Weasley and Kingsley explained it all to you, as did Professor Dumbledore last summer, that once I turn seventeen, the protection around this house will end and you'll be in danger. Voldemort won't have any hesitation to take you hostage, to torture you, and ultimately kill you, simply to get to me. He'd certainly expect me to come and rescue you." Harry wondered for a moment if he would try to save them; meeting Vernon's eyes he was sure his uncle was wondering the same thing.

"Say, for the sake of argument that we agree to have this protection," Vernon continued after a moment, "why can't we have ministry protection? It only seems appropriate as our lives have been placed in danger simply for harboring a marked man."

"You're welcome to it," said Harry. "You heard Kingsley—the ministry's been infiltrated. I've been in danger my whole life and the ministry has yet to keep me safe, but if you want to take your chances then don't let me stop you."

"Alright then," said Vernon. "Why can't we have this Kingsley bloke?"

"He's protecting your prime minister."

"Exactly—he's the best."

"Well you can't have him," said Harry quickly. "Diggle and Jones are more than up to the task."

"If it's as bad as your lot say it is, why haven't we heard anything about it, eh?"

"You have been hearing about it," Harry retorted. His patience had thinned. He pointed to the television in the living room. "You've seen the derailments, the explosions, the crashes—that's Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It's sport to them, killing Muggles like you. People are disappearing and dying every day. And this is just the beginning. He's got giants, Inferi, and Dementors at his disposal. If you don't remember what Dementors are, you can ask Dudley. I'm sure he remembers." At this point, Vernon and Petunia turned to their son.

"There's—more of them?"

"Hundreds," said Harry. "Maybe thousands by now. They feed on fear and despair—"

"Alright, alright," said Vernon flustered now, "you've made your point."

"I hope so," said Harry. "I really do, because when I leave they're all coming for me and this place will no longer be safe. They won't care that you never liked me, they won't care that you never wanted me here, but they'll use you if they think they can get to me and kill you afterwards. If that doesn't work, they'll just kill you anyway. You can't hide from these people by ordinary ways—you remember the last time you tried to outrun wizards—you need help and the Order is offering it."

"But what about our work—Dudley's school—I don't suppose your lot understands how important a job is or—"

"They will kill you," shouted Harry, "just like my parents."

"Dad," said Dudley, "Dad—I'm going with these Order people."

"Smart move, Dudley," said Harry. Harry knew the argument was over; with Dudley scared and willing to take any help, uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia would simply fall in line. Harry looked at the kitchen clock.

"Right, they'll be here in five minutes." Harry retreated from the kitchen with nothing else to say. He returned to his room and double checked that he had everything ready; Hedwig was in her cage, his Firebolt leaned on the wall next the bedroom door and his rucksack had been packed and ready on his bed.

"We're almost free," Harry said to his snowy owl. "You'll never be in a cage again." She responded with a soft hoot and ruffled her feathers in a clear display of restlessness. Five minutes quickly passed and the doorbell rang below. Harry dashed back down the stairs and greeted Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones.

"Harry Potter, an honor we meet again," said Dedalus, bowing in the doorway. Hestia likewise greeted him with a broad smile.

"I appreciate you doing this," said Harry inviting them in quickly. "They're just through here in the living room."

"Excellent," said Dedalus as they followed Harry into the living room.

"Good day to you, relatives of Harry Potter," said Dedalus, outstretching his hand with great enthusiasm. Vernon considered the man through bulging eyes but did not respond. Realizing that he was not going to be shaking hands, Dedalus quickly recovered. "All packed? Ready to go? Tight schedule of course—Harry will have already told you then plan, I'm sure—good lad that he is." Dedalus did not see the dumbfounded look upon Harry's aunt and uncle, clearly surprised that anyone would ever describe him as "good".

"We'll be first to leave," continued Dedalus without pause. "We'll use Muggle transport—drive about ten miles out before Disapparating to the safe location have set up for you. I trust you know how to drive?" Dedalus turned to Vernon inquisitively. Vernon turned purple for the umpteenth time that evening.

"Yes I know how to drive!"

"Splendid," replied Dedalus unaware of how flustered Vernon had become. "Very clever of you—I wouldn't know where to start—difficult contraptions these Muggle carriages." He then turned to Harry. "You will wait for your guard, Harry. There has been a small change regarding your exit plan."

"I thought Mad-Eye was taking me with Side-Along-Apparition?"

"Can't do it, Harry," interjected Hestia. "Mad-Eye will explain it to you." Harry nodded.

"The plan," resumed Dedalus, "is that you will depart from the house at the same time as your family's Disapparition—the idea being that the charm will break the moment you all head for safety." He turned to the Dursleys. "Ready to do?" The Dursleys did not answer, though Vernon's head snapped toward the door indicating they were.

"We'll just wait outside the hall," said Hestia, "while you say goodbye."

"Don't bother," said Harry.

"Well, good-bye, then," said Vernon who looked as though he were about to shake Harry's hand, but then reconsidered quickly. Dudley and Petunia joined Vernon at the door.

"Why isn't he coming with us," said Dudley rather suddenly.

"What's wrong with you," asked Vernon. "He doesn't want to come." He swiftly turned to face Harry with a sudden unsure look in his eyes. "You don't, do you?"

"Absolutely not," said Harry.

"See, Dudley," said Vernon, putting a hand on his shoulders as he directed Dudley towards the door, "He doesn't want to come." Dudley however, didn't budge.

"Where's he going?"

"Surely, you know where he's going," said Hestia now looking between Harry's relatives with a newfound curiousness.

"Well he's off with your lot, isn't he," said Vernon. "Now come along, son, it's time to go."

"Off with some of _our_ lot?" Hestia's forehead flushed red beneath her dark brown hair.

"It's alright," said Harry, wanting to diffuse what he knew could become a very heated exchange. "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters," retorted Hestia in a raised voice. "Don't they realize what you've been through? The dangers you're in? Don't they know what you mean to wizards everywhere?"

"No—they think I'm a waste of space, really," said Harry. "It's best not to enlighten them now—it won't change anything."

"I don't think you're a waste of space," said Dudley. "You saved my life." At that moment all the inhabitants of Number Four, Private Drive, fell into awkward silence. Petunia looked on the verge of tears while Vernon stood with a befuddled expression.

"Blimey, Dudley, what's gotten into you," asked Harry.

"Dunno," he shrugged.

"So sweet," whimpered Petunia, "saying thank you—"

"I beg your pardon," said an outraged Hestia, "he didn't say thank you at all, just that he wasn't a_ waste of space_!"

"Yeah, well, from Dudley—" said Harry trying to explain but he was interrupted.

"Enough already," bellowed Vernon. "Are we leaving or not?"

"Yes, yes," said Dedalus. "Best be off, we're already running a bit behind." He turned to Harry as the Dursleys began making their way out the door. "Best of luck, Harry Potter. We're all behind you."

"Yes," said Hestia beside Dedalus now. "We'll be ready when you need us."

"Thank you," said Harry. "I hope they don't give you too much trouble."

"Oh we shall be the best of chums before the trip is over, I suspect," said Dedalus as he shook Harry's hand with both of his. "It's my pleasure to help Harry Potter—our world rests on your shoulders."

"Right," said Harry, "thanks." Dudley was the last to leave. He approached Harry, timidly, and then held out one of his pudgy hands. Harry took his hand bewildered by his cousin's sudden change in behavior.

"Take care, Harry," said Dudley. "See you later."

"Yeah, maybe," said Harry taken aback. "See ya, Big D." Then, as though realizing what he'd done, Dudley hastily scampered out the door after his parents. Harry watched from the kitchen window as they loaded into Vernon's car and took off down the street. Once they had disappeared from view, Harry returned to his room, snatched up his broom, slung his rucksack over his back, and picked up Hedwig's cage and made his way back into the kitchen and waited.

As night fell Harry heard the distinct rumble of an engine outside. He stood with his nose an inch from the kitchen window overlooking Private Drive, watchful for any unusual movement. A moment later, Disillusionment Charms abated one-by-one, revealing members of the Order of the Phoenix. Harry rushed to the door and swung it wide open as they entered as they all filed in.

Hermione was first inside, flinging her arms around him. Ron followed closely behind giving him a brotherly clap on the back. Hagrid wrestled his body through the doorway but greeted Harry with his usual bearded smile. Fred and George joined them a moment later, followed immediately by Bill and Fleur. Tonks, Remus, Mr. Weasley, and Kingsley came next followed at the rear by Mundungus Fletcher who was clearly being routed by Mad-Eye.

"I wasn't expected all of you," said Harry. "Diggle said something about plans changing but this isn't what came to mind." He rounded to Kingsley, "I thought you were guarding the Prime Minister?"

"You are much more important," said Kingsley seriously.

"Harry, guess what," said Tonks stepping forward and waving her left hand at him. A slim silver band glistened beneath the kitchen light.

"You were married?" He looked back and forth between Tonks and Remus.

"It was a small ceremony," said Remus. "We're sorry you could not be there."

"Yes, well it's all bloody romantic, but it'll have to wait," growled Mad-Eye as he took his place front and center of the group. He looked at harry intently with his real eye while his magical one whizzed in circles. "As Dedalus told you, we've had to ditch the original plan; Thicknesse has gone over—either under the Imperius Curse or his own choice and he's made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to Floo, place a Portkey, or Apparate in and out—all for your safety of course—pointless, given your mother's charm does that already. What's he's really done is all but guarantee you can't leave this place without the Ministry, and consequently, the Dark Lord knowing it."

"What about Scrimgeour," asked Harry. "Wouldn't the Minister of Magic already know about the wards?"

"Scrimgeour's dealing with a hailstorm right now," replied Kingsley. "He depends on people like Thicknesse managing everyday events while he's trying to organize contingences and counter measures against You-Know-Who. He's an excellent Auror—knows the dark arts better than most—but he's still just one man. It's likely he's completely unaware of the security change regarding this house."

"And no one thought to inform him," asked Harry, surprised.

"Can't get an audience with him at the moment," barked Mad-Eye. "Likewise, we can't communicate something this important by other means in case it's intercepted. Regardless, we've let slip a false trail to make the Ministry think you're leaving on the thirtieth. However, it's not likely that You-Know-Who won't have placed a few lookouts; they know the approximate location of the house so we can't take any chances. We've established several safe houses—all connected to someone in the Order—given all sorts of protective enchantments and charms we can think of—they'll have a hard time getting to you, let alone even finding you." Harry however, could clearly see one significant factor they all seemed to have overlooked.

"So they won't know what safe house I'm in," said Harry speaking up, "but don't you think that'd be obvious pretty quickly once they see all fourteen of us heading to any of these locations?" Mad-Eye's magical eye had now turned to examine Harry.

"Ah, yes, well I haven't told you the key point yet, have I?" He reached into the inside of his cloak and withdrew a large clear flask, the contents resembling thick gluttonous mud. "I heard rumor you are familiar with this particular brew? You see, there won't be fourteen of us flying to the same safe house; there will be seven Harry Potters flying through the night sky, each accompanied by an Order member."

"No," said Harry, the sharpness of his voice even surprising himself. Hermione quickly came to his side.

"Harry, I knew you wouldn't like this, but try to listen and—" but Harry gave her a fierce look that quieted her immediately.

"I'm not letting anyone risk their lives—"

"Because we've never done that before," said Ron. Harry rounded on him.

"No, this is different, Ron—pretending to be me," said Harry, speaking faster than usual, "—you'll be placing a target on your own back."

"None of us fancy it, Harry," said Fred smirking, "Imagine if we were to end up stuck as a specky, scrawny git forever?"

"I won't allow it," said Harry. "I've got to give you my hair for this to work and—"

"Well I guess we've all got to go home now," said George. "I mean, if Harry here won't cooperate, thirteen of us won't be enough against the Chosen One." Harry clenched his fists with this remark. He caught Ron and Hermione's worried looks from the corner of his eye.

"You think this is a joke, George," asked Harry, feeling his own face turn red, "because it isn't funny."

"If it comes to force, so be it," growled Mad-Eye stepping closer to Harry. "Everyone here is of age, Potter; they know the risk."

"But it's mad," argued Harry.

"It most certainly is," said Mad-Eye. "You-Know-Who is out there, waiting for you to make your move, and he has half the Ministry keeping a lookout for you—if we're lucky he'll have taken the fake bait and we'll make it to the safe houses without incident—but we can't be too sure. The protective charm on this house is about to break, and as I said, he knows the approximate location of this place. If we're attacked tonight, they won't be expecting seven of you. At any rate, You-Know-Who has made it clear that he wants to kill you personally, so anyone disguised as you won't be danger of being killed by Death Eaters—it'll be the exposed Order members that'll have the targets on their back. Even You-Know-Who can't split himself into seven." Harry briefly caught Hermione's eye and looked down at his feet.

"So, Potter, some of you hair, please," Mad-Eye commanded, holding the open flask in front of him. Grudgingly, not seeing how he could change Mad-Eye's mind, he reached up and yanked a small tuft of hair and tossed it into the flask. The potion hissed and smoked once Harry's hair hit the potion's surface. It bubbled for a few moments and turned into a clear bright gold.

"You look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," said Hermione.

"Had Polyjuice before, eh, miss innocent," teased Fred.

"It was only to discover if Malfoy was being the Chamber of Secrets," quipped Hermione as her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. "And we weren't too far off base with our suspicions, were we—the diary did come from Draco's father after all—and Goyle's potion looked like bogies."

"Careful, Fred," warned George, "you'll wind up at the receiving end of her wand."

"Alright, fake Potters line up over here," said Mad-Eye, pointing to the kitchen counter while ignoring the twins. Fred, George, Fleur, Mundungus, Ron, and Hermione lined up single file in front of the aged Auror. He handed the flask to Fred. "Fair warning—Polyjuice Potion—tastes like Goblin piss."

"I sense a story behind that," said George as his twin brother took a swallow and chocked, "personal experience, perhaps?"

"Shut it and drink," growled Mad-Eye. One-by-one each of the volunteers took a swig from the flask. Harry watched as Hermione and Mundungus sprouted in height while Ron and the twins shrunk considerably as their hair darkened. All their faces contorted in varying distortion as though made of melted wax. A few moments later and Harry saw six Harry Potters looking back at him. Mad-Eye quickly handed new identical clothes to each of the imposters, along with matching glasses. Harry had never felt more violated as they changed into identical clothes without any consideration for his privacy.

"I knew Ginny was lying," said Ron, carefully examining his bare chest. "You don't have a tattoo."

"Ginny has never seen my chest, Ron," said Harry quickly.

"Harry, your eyesight is terrible," said Hermione as she put on the glasses. "We really should get you some new ones, these are hideous." Finally, all the fake Potters were dressed and looked inseparable. Mad-Eye gave an approving nod and separated them into pairs; Mundungus and Mad-Eye, Fred and Arthur, George and Remus, Fleur and Bill, Hermione and Kingsley, Ron with Tonks, and finally, the real Harry was partnered with Hagrid.

"Death Eaters will be expecting you to be on a broom," explained Mad-Eye, "so you'll be with Hagrid on Sirius' old motorbike—that'll be the last mode of transportation they'd expect the real you to take." With the plan finalized, Mad-Eye led them all to the back yard. There two Thestrals, multiple brooms, and a large blue motorcycle with a side car awaited them.

"So this was Sirius' bike," asked Harry.

"That she is, Harry," answered Hagrid. "An' the last time yeh was on it, I could fit yeh in one o' me hands. It on'y seemed right ter take yeh away from here the same way I brought yeh." He beamed down at Harry, his beady eyes just a little teary. "I wished I'd let Sirius take yeh, Harry. You'd never have had ter live with them Muggles."

"Even if you had, Hagrid, I wouldn't have been able to stay with him. Remember, everyone thought he was my parent's secret keeper and had killed Peter Pettigrew." Hagrid mumbled. Harry released Hedwig from her cage and scrunched himself into the side car with his broom and rucksack.

"Arthur's tinkered with it a bit," said Hagrid, pointing the purple button. "Ain't no Death Eater be expectin' that."

"Be careful, Hagrid," said Mr. Weasley as he mounted his broom. "Putting too much magic into a muggle item can be disastrous and I'm still not sure it was a good idea." Harry smirked as he remembered the flying Ford Angelina and knew Mr. Weasley was speaking from experience.

"That's enough chit chat," growled Moody as mounted his own broom at the front of the group. Beside him, Mundungus looked as uncomfortable as he'd ever been. "Good luck, everyone—see you all at the Burrow in about an hour—on the count of three now. One…two…three!"

The motorcycle roared into life as Harry was forced back into the seat of the sidecar as the bike lifted from the ground with tremendous force. They ascended into the night sky as Number Four Private Drive quickly faded from view. For a few moments while Harry watched his imposters and their guards fly around him, he let out a sigh of relief; they had left undetected.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind where they surround by multiple hooded figures. The Death Eaters had surrounded them. Green lights soon filled the sky in every direction. Hagrid swerved the bike violently, tipping them nearly sideways as Harry's broom fell and hurtled to the earth below. He managed to cling to his rucksack with one hand as the other one held him to the side car. Hagrid reamed on the throttle as they barreled through the cluster of Death Eaters in front of them. Two green jets of light screamed past Hagrid's head as two Death Eaters gave chase. Harry looked over his shoulder; each pair of the Order had dispersed into different directions.

"Watch it, Harry," shouted Hagrid as they dove to avoid a third Death Eater who charged them head on. As the masked rider flew past Harry sent a stunning spell after him but missed.

"Hang on, Harry," shouted Hagrid again as they swerved left and then right.

"Hagrid, We've got to turn around," Harry demanded. "We've got to help the others."

"Can't do it, Harry—Mad-Eye's orders—I'm ter get yeh there safe!" Again the trio of Death Eaters were close on their tail as they hurled killing curses at Hagrid. Harry shot another stunner at them, splitting the group as it flew down the center.

"Just kill 'em both," shouted one of the Death Eaters behind him. "Potter will be on a broom." Harry turned just in time to see the nearest Death Eater shoot a killing curse directly at him. A moment passed between the Death Eaters curse and Harry's unconscious decision to duck when a Hedwig came between them. The curse hit the snowy owl dead center and Harry watched as his companion—his only living connection to the magical world during those terrible summers at the Dursleys, fell from the sky.

"Hold tight, Harry," yelled Hagrid as he slammed his fist into the purple button. Harry was nearly flung from the sidecar from the force of the dragon fire that erupted from the bikes exhaust. In just a few seconds they were propelled far ahead of their attackers. They were not alone for long however, as moments later two new Death Eaters pursued them. Harry continued his volley of stunning spells hoping to hold them off as long as possible. As one if Harry's stunners flew by one of the Death Eaters he caught a glimpse of the attackers face; Stan Shunpike.

"_Expelliarmus_," shouted Harry. The Death Eaters immediately pulled back.  
"It's him, the real one. Hold your wand." Hagrid took advantage and slammed the dragon-fire a second time.

"I think we lost 'em," said Hagrid as the dragon-fire extinguished. "We're nearly there." But Harry did hear him—his scar burst as though exposed to open flame. Forcing his eyes open he saw him; flying with his body cloaked in black smoke with no broom to support him—Voldemort. Hagrid bellowed in fear as he lunged the bike forward into a vertical dive. Harry lost all sense of direction between the div and the searing pain in his forehead. He didn't know where Voldemort was. Eyes closed, he prepared for what he knew was coming. And then his wand dragged his hand into a raised position; brilliant golden fire shot towards Voldemort in a spiral from his wand. He heard a scream and Voldemort hissed _"Selwyn, give me your wand!"_ Harry looked in the direction of his wand and saw the red glaring eyes staring back at him, their murderous intent unmistakable. Voldemort raised his wand, and then—he vanished.

**() () ()**

It had been a long night at the Burrow; Harry and Hagrid had been the first to arrive by Portkey from Tonk's parents. Remus had interrogated him to see if he'd been an imposter after he'd supported George into the living room, his face covered his blood and a missing ear cursed off by Snape. Kingsley and Hermione had been the next to arrive. Hermione had unreservedly flung herself into Harry's arms and stood as a shield to him when Kingsley pointed his wand at Harry. Remus had quickly diffused the situation. Mr. Weasley and Fred arrived next, followed by Ron and Tonks. Last to arrive was Bill and Fleur. They had all gathered around George in the living room when Bill announced that Mad-Eye had been killed. They all had shared a toast to the fallen warrior—the ever vigilant survivor. He and Remus had left immediately hoping to retrieve the body. Harry made an effort to go too but it was quickly shot down.

"I've got to go too," said Harry. Nearly everyone in the room quickly rounded on him but Harry held his ground. "I can't stay here. You're all in danger while I'm here."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Weasley. "You-Know-Who's got no way of knowing where you are."

"That's right," said Mr. Weasley. "You could be at a dozen places each with significant protection.

"It's not me I'm worried about!"

"We know that," said Mr. Weasley quietly. "If you left tonight it would make our efforts seem rather pointless."

"Yer not goin' anywhere," growled Hagrid.

"Yeah, don't forget about my ear," said George.

"Mad-eye wouldn't want—"

"I KNOW!" They all fell silent again. Hagrid however, did not let it last long.

"Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry," said Hagrid. "Fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!"

"I didn't do anything—it was my wand—it acted on its own."

"That's impossible Harry," said Hermione. "You mean you did magic without meaning too; you did it instinctively."

"No," said harry shaking his head. "My scar was hurting, I couldn't see where he was, my wand spun in my hand and shot golden flames at him. I don't know any magic like that."

"Sometimes, it is possible to produce very powerful magic when under significant duress," said Mr. Weasley.

"ENOUGH," said Harry, louder than he meant to. They all fell silent again. "I want to be very clear—I can see it on your faces; I don't have any special power so you can all just take the thought right out of your heads." Harry turned on his heels and raced upstairs to Ron's bedroom. He flung himself onto the spare bed that he'd always slept in and threw his face into the pillow. Mad-Eye was dead, Hedwig was gone, and they all believed him to have power he couldn't hope to imagine.

A few minutes later Hermione came in and sat at the edge of his bed. He knew it was her because her hand and glided comfortingly up his back.

"Don't be mad at them, Harry, they don't know the truth," she said.

"But they have a pretty good idea," said Harry, his voice muted by the pillow, "even if they don't know the details."

"They suspect, like everyone else," she said. "They can see it on your face, Harry. At least the adults do. I'm not sure Ginny does. They can tell you're holding a heavy burden." Harry didn't respond.

"Tell me about your wand, Harry," said Hermione after a moment. "You said it wasn't you but wands are not known to act on their own, it certainly isn't normal."

"Since when has anything in our lives ever been normal, Hermione?"

"Not since Halloween of first year," replied Hermione. "Even so, a wand has to have an intent—they only channel and focus magic, Harry."

"I've told you what I know, Hermione." He shook his head. "Dumbledore would know."

"Harry, please look at me." Harry turned his head from the pillow. Hermione got down on her knees beside the bed while one of her hands continued to rest on his back.

"I wish he was still here to help you, Harry," said Hermione. "Seeing as he's not, you'll just have to settle for me."


	7. Torn Asunder

**Author's Notes: **Good news, readers—got a lot more writing down this week than expected. As a result, you've got another two chapters coming your way.

**Kronus96**: Yes, Harry does need help, I just don't think it's so much as needing therapy as much as needing stability in his life. And he's going to get it. I think most of Harry's emotional instability comes from the fact that he's not been brought up in an environment where love is abundant. Add to that survivors guilt and I think most of Harry's emotional roller coaster is pretty straight forward and expected. At least that's how I view it.

Anyway, lots of emotion in these next two chapters. I really do hope you enjoy.

As always, thank you to everyone who reviews and reads; you are appreciated.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless adults and children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment.**

**Chapter Seven: Torn Asunder**

It had taken several days for the inhabitants of the Burrow to get past the shock of losing Mad-Eye. Mrs. Weasley had pulled out all her motherly intuition to keep the trio separate while they prepared the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Ron had convinced Harry to wait until after the wedding as it was only one day after he turned seventeen. Ron had also warned Harry to be on guard with Mrs. Weasley as she would likely try to corner him and ask what they were planning to do.

"She's already tried to get me and Hermione to spill the beans," said Ron on the day before the wedding. "Dad and Lupin also tried, but they dropped it once we told them Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us." Indeed they had all just gathered around the table for breakfast when Mrs. Weasley pounced.

"Harry, dear," she said with her sweet motherly voice, "Ron and Hermione told me this silly tale that I hope you can enlighten me on. They say you three are dropping out of Hogwarts."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, we are." Harry thought it best to get straight to the point. He looked quickly to Ron and Hermione on either side of him, then to Ginny, and finally to Bill and Mr. Weasley.

"And _why_ would you walk away from your education?"

"Dumbledore left me a job to do," said Harry. "Ron and Hermione know about it and they've agreed to come with me. It's their choice of course," he added looking to each of his best friends in turn, "but they don't have to come. But I am leaving."

"I don't see that _you've_ got to go either," she snapped. Mr. Weasely attempted to calm her but she rounded on her husband with such an intensive glare he immediately fell silent. "I think Arthur and I have a right to know, and I'm sure Hermione's parents would agree." Mrs. Weasley was now breathing heavily. "You're all barely of age and it's complete nonsense—if Dumbledore needed work done, he would have had the Order do it. Harry, you must have misunderstood him. You probably heard him needing something done and you took it to mean that he wanted—"

"I didn't misunderstand, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry raising his voice but not so much as to shout. He quickly racked his brain for a way to help them understand without putting them in any more danger. "Dumbledore and I were away from Hogwarts the night he died—what we were doing was very important—it has to be me. If it was something the Order could do, he'd have brought them and not me."

"But _why_ does it have to be you, Harry," asked Mrs. Weasley. Her tone had lost its harshness and was now filled with concern. "Why would Dumbledore give what is clearly a dangerous task to you three?" He could feel all their eyes staring at him. It was then that it dawned to him; they were aware of the prophecy that had been held in the Department of Mysteries. Harry could tell them without having to give away any of the details.

"The night Sirius died Dumbledore and I had a long chat in his office," said Harry. He could feel the dampness in his eyes as he shamefully remembered all he'd done to destroy the Headmaster's possessions. He quickly wiped his eyes.

"Harry, remember what Dumbledore told you," said Hermione as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Ron did the same on his other side. Harry shook his head.

"Don't worry, Hermione," said Harry, "I know what I'm doing." Harry swallowed hard and continued. "You already know of course, that there was a prophecy that Voldemort wanted," said Harry ignoring the collective shiver of everyone present, "and that he lured me there in order to get it. You probably know also that only the people who can touch them are those whom the prophecy was about. That prophecy that was smashed was only a record; I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office when he brought me back from the Ministry."

"I can't tell you what it said. I trust Ron and Hermione with my life, and even they haven't heard the exact words because it could be the difference between me living and dying. That prophecy is the whole reason my parents went into hiding and ultimately why they died. Dumbledore's gone, so I'm the only one who knows what it said, and it has to stay that way. It has nothing to do with trust—if Voldemort were to get a hold of any of you, he could get that information from you. What I've told you is no more than he could have read in the Prophet for himself." Harry watched as comprehension made its way around the table slowly. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny both had gone pale, Mr. Weasley sat with his mouth slightly open, and Bill stared at his breakfast. Having lost his appetite, Harry excused himself from the table and went outside. Ginny followed closely behind.

"Harry, wait," called Ginny. Harry waited by the garden. Once Ginny had caught up with him she made to embrace him but Harry held his arms up.

"Ginny, we've been through this."

"I'm your girlfriend, Harry," yelled Ginny. "Why didn't you tell me? Why is it that Ron and Hermione know everything yet I hardly know anything?" He saw from the corner of his eye that Ginny's yelling had attracted an audience as both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley watched from the kitchen window while Ron and Hermione gathered at the door.

"I was there too," she continued, "at the Department of Mysteries. I was part of Dumbledore's Army and I helped Ron and Hermione the night Dumbledore died. In case you haven't noticed, Potter, I can take care of myself!"

"This isn't a game, Ginny," yelled Harry. Harry wasn't sure what made Ginny shrink back. Perhaps it was his raised voice, or his furious gaze or his clenched fist or a combination of all three. Whatever the reason, Harry was quite sure she'd never seen him this upset and angry. "This isn't like those other times, like at the Ministry—we won't have any bargaining chips—no backup—what I'm going to do hurt Dumbledore terribly and almost cost him his life—mine too. You are not going. I know it hurts, but we're not together anymore. You need to accept that."

"You said we couldn't be together because he'd use me against you," scowled Ginny. "You didn't say it was over."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," said Harry. "I meant what I said. Being with you those last few weeks at Hogwarts was like a dream. I felt normal for once in my life."

"Then why are you pushing me away? After all that waiting, waiting to see if the great Harry Potter would ever notice me—finally it happens—and now he's off on some noble quest to prove himself because he has a people-saving-thing. It isn't fair, Harry."

"You think I don't know what it's like, having an unfair life, Ginny? Let me explain something to you; my parents died before I knew them and the only memories I have of them is my mother's screams when a Dementor gets near me and seeing brief shadows of their likeness when I was inches from death in a graveyard. I spent eleven years living with people who hated my very existence; my bedroom was a broom closet beneath the stairs. I was abused, physically and verbally. I was beaten regularly by my cousin and his gang. I had no friends. No family. I've been nearly killed every year I've been at Hogwarts. Life isn't fair, Ginny."

"I, I never knew any of that, Harry," said Ginny. Tears were building in her eyes.

"Don't you see it, Ginny," asked Harry, lowering his voice. "You're in love with the Boy-Who-Lived, not me." Ginny was openly crying now. He felt awful, and sickened that he had brought her to tears in this way. He put his arms around her and spoke softly.

"You'll always be my friend, Ginny, and you'll always have a special place. I don't expect you to forgive me. But I'd rather you were safe and hate me then dead because of me. I don't get the pleasure of having a normal life. If I don't go, no one else gets a chance either."

"S-so you r-really are g-going after him, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ginny. I am."

"B-but it's okay for R-Ron and Hermione to g-go with you?

"No, Ginny, it's not." She looked up at him.

"Then why aren't you s-stopping them t-too?"

"I've tried for the last six years, Ginny."

**() () ()**

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had come into the garden once they saw it was safe to intercede. Mrs. Weasley took Ginny inside, her arms wrapped tightly around her daughter. Mr. Weasley exchanged a few short words of comfort to Harry as they walked toward his muggle shed. Once inside Harry had tried to apologize to Mr. Weasley but his attempt was quickly waved away.

"You don't need to explain to me, Harry. Ginny needed to hear you say those things. She needs to know it's not like being at school. She doesn't know it yet, but she'll be thankful one day for your honesty." He then left Harry alone in the shed.

After some time had passed, Harry dragged himself from the shed and made his way back to the Burrow. Mr. Weasley was standing in the garden watching the Gnomes. Deciding he didn't want to chance an encounter with Mrs. Weasley or Ginny in the kitchen, he elected to go around the house and come in through the back door. As he made his way around the house, two voices caught caused him to halt in his tracks. It was Ron and Hermione.

"Did you see the way he yelled at Ginny," said Ron.

"He wasn't yelling at Ginny, Ron," said Hermione. "And in case you didn't see, she was the one who started in on him."

"She was right, though, wasn't she? How was she supposed to know any of that?"

"Ronald Weasley, you know very well why Harry didn't tell her anything."

"You're taking his side?"

"I won't dignify that with a response, Ronald."

"Doesn't it bother you, Hermione? He didn't share the prophecy with us. What else hasn't he told us about the Horcruxes?"

"Harry said it plainly at breakfast. That information could be taken from us. What if we get captured and Voldemort reads our minds, or worse, tortures us to giving it up? And you know Harry has told us everything about the Horcruxes."

"What about the night Dumbledore died? He never told us what happened. Just like he never told us what happened the night You-Know-Who came back."

"Would you want to talk about it, Ron?"

"But we're supposed to be his friends, Hermione; friends don't keep secrets."

"What are you trying to say, Ron? Are we supposed to just leave Harry to himself while he hunts for those horrible objects?"

"You heard him—he wants to leave us behind. Hermione, I've been thinking; we should go back to Hogwarts. We can help Harry when he needs it, but this way we'll be able to continue our education and won't fall behind."

"Is this your idea, or is it your mother talking? We promised Harry we'd go with him. Besides, how are we going to get in and out of the castle? How are we going to know when Harry needs us? You'd have Harry going from place to place exposed while we're nice and cozy in the Gryffindor common room?"

"He's got an Invisibility Cloak, he won't be exposed—"

"Ronald!"

"What about us, Hermione?"

"What about us, Ron?

"We can spend time together, if we go back to Hogwarts. I just thought, maybe you'd like that too."

"We're in the middle of a war, Ronald Weasley, and all you can think about is having some alone time with me while your best friend gets himself killed trying to finish off the wizard who will stop at nothing to kill him. Don't you care, Ron? Harry is the only one that can beat him and you're worried about having the chance to snog me. You're unbelievable."

Harry had heard enough. Quietly he retreated back to the front of the Burrow and snuck in past the kitchen. He tiptoed up the stairs into Ron's room and shut the door. As he lay on the bed he could not shake the overwhelming truth that assaulted his mind.

_He was keeping his friends apart._

**() () ()**

"In case you'd forgotten, Ron, we are not dating."

"But you've known for ages I've fancied you," said Ron.

"Oh is that so," said Hermione clenching her fists. "I wonder; did you fancy me while you were snogging Lavender Brown's tonsils this year?"

"It's not my fault she came and kissed me that night and you didn't."

"Well maybe if you'd plucked up the courage to ask me properly we wouldn't be having this discussion."

"Bloody hell," said Ron, "C'mon Hermione, don't tell me you don't feel it too."

"Yes, Ron, I did fancy you, but that was before I remembered you're a selfish prat. Our friend is suffering and he needs help and all you can think about is yourself."

"He'll be fine, Hermione, he just needs some time," said Ron dismissively. "He was like this fifth year too, if you'd forgotten."

"You mean when Dumbledore left him completely alone after he'd just watched Cedric die and couldn't do anything about it? The same year that Voldemort invaded his mind and made him see those terrible images of Sirius being tortured? The same year the Ministry was slandering his name and his character? The same year he found out the weight of world was on his shoulders? I'd like to see how you'd cope!"

"So about us—" Ron began as though he hadn't heard Hermione.

"There won't be any _us_ if you don't choose your next words carefully, Ronald."

"So you're still going, then?"

"Yes, Ron. I am. And just in case you'd forgotten; you were just like this from when we first met. It seems you haven't changed one bit."

**() () ()**

Mr. Weasley shook his head. He'd been standing at the back door throughout the whole ordeal. Between breakfast and now having heard two rows between his two youngest children and two young adults he considered his own had told him all he needed to know. He'd rarely felt so many emotions tugging at him all at once. He was ashamed and angry with Ron, sad for Ginny, and proud of Hermione. Most of all, he was fearful for Harry. There was admiration too, but mostly fear. He fully understood what Harry was trying to say at breakfast. Knowing just what burden Harry had upon his shoulders, he wasn't sure if he had the resolve to let him go, even though he had too.


	8. Mr Weasley's Advice

**Author's Notes:** This has been one of my favorite chapters to write so far. I think Mr. Weasley is easily overlooked and to be honest, anyone that raised Fred and George would be both very cunning and wise. So today he gets his just rewards.

For those who might be celebrating from the last chapter (and from this chapter) I want to remind you that Harry and Hermione still have a long way to go.

Please review if it stirs you.

Cheers.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other property as owned by JK Rowling, whom I and countless adults and children owe the love of reading and writing. This story is for my own enjoyment. **

**Chapter 8: Mr. Weasley's Advice**

It was quiet in the Burrow that night. Nearly all had retired for the evening after a long day of wedding preparations. Tomorrow was Bill and Fleur's big day. Ordinarily, Harry would have been content to go to bed like everyone else but his mind was racing at full speed. Ron and Hermione's argument still rang in his ears; they of course, had no idea he had overheard them. For Harry, knowing he was the reason his two best friends were fighting was painful. The argument reawakened his deepest fears. Hermione had spent those precious days at the Dursleys convincing him to put aside his guilt and to allow Ron and her to come with him. He had relented. He even acknowledged he didn't want to find Horcruxes by himself—no—more like he couldn't find the Horcruxes by himself. Now however, as he stood outside the Burrow looking up into a starless night sky, he came to the realization that he must go alone. It was the only way to save Ron and Hermione's relationship. He had packed his bag already. He inhaled deeply as though he were about to take a plunge into the frigid coldness of the Deep Lake. He concentrated on Grimmauld Place, ready to apparate.

"Long night, Harry?" Harry jolted to his senses and turned around. Mr. Weasley stepped out of the house. Harry's heart pounded. How was he going to convince Mr. Weasley he needed to leave?

"Isn't every night," answered Harry.

"Quite," said Mr. Weasley with a faint smile. "Going somewhere?"

"Mr. Weasley, I can't explain why I have to go, but I must," said Harry. "Dumbledore's orders."

"Oh I don't doubt you're telling the truth, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Walk with me for a bit?" Harry nodded.

"Splendid!" Mr. Weasely guided him towards the shed where he kept all his muggle contraptions.

"I'm surprised you're leaving without them," said Mr. Weasley once they were well out of ear shot of the Burrow.

"It wasn't the original plan," said Harry. "But it's better this way. I'm surprised you're not trying to stop us," Harry added.

"I've always admired your protective nature, Harry," he said with another smile. "Molly and I couldn't be more proud of you. Most of my family owes their lives to you—myself and Ginny in particular. As far as preventing you from leaving, I don't think we could if we tried."

"Mr. Weasley—about Ginny—you don't have to worry—I,"

"It's alright, Harry," said Mr. Weasley. "When Dumbledore died I had a feeling you would break away. It's who you are. Molly, on the other hand, didn't take it so well." Harry looked at his feet. She hadn't conveyed any such disappointment to him.

"No need to feel guilty, Harry," he said quickly. "You'll always be a son to us; even without the red hair. Whether you become a son-in-law or not changes nothing. But I'd like to talk about Ron and Hermione if you'd indulge me?" Harry nodded, surprised that Mr. Weasley was not jumping down his skin at breaking with his daughter.

"Why now," he asked, "why now do you choose to leave them behind?"

"To keep them safe," said Harry quickly. "What I'm about to do is what Dumbledore and I were doing the night he died."

"Harry, Snape killed Dumbledore," said Mr. Weasley firmly. "Whatever you two were doing, it was not what killed him." Harry hesitated. How could he make Mr. Weasley understand?

"Dumbledore would not have died if he hadn't been weakened," said Harry, choosing his words carefully. "Dumbledore was weakened because of me—I let him do it. What I'm going to do—there will be more of it—more of the same kind of dangers that Dumbledore was exposed too. I won't bury them too, Mr. Weasley."

"And is that the only reason you're leaving them behind," asked Mr. Weasley. Something in his voice told Harry that Mr. Weasley knew more than he was letting on. Mr. Weasley must have noticed that Harry suspected as much as he elaborated further.

"You weren't the only one to overhear their argument today." They stood in silence for a few minutes as they stared at one another. Finally, Harry broke his gaze and turned his back to Mr. Weasley.

"Ron's right," said Harry. "They should go back to Hogwarts. Besides, I don't want—"

"You don't want to be the reason they're not together," answered Mr. Weasley. Harry nodded. "I can't tell you what to do, Harry, but I can tell you this much; Ron has never lived a difficult life—despite his awareness of the life you've been forced to endure, he remains ignorant and if truth be told, entitled to having things his way. I'd hoped that Ron would have learned his lesson during the Tri-wizard tournament—it would appear that's not the case. As for Hermione, let's just say I wouldn't want to be the one to tell her you left in the middle of the night—she'd follow you to the end, Harry—that's a true friend."

"Mr. Weasley, what would you do if you were me," asked Harry. "If you thought that Mrs. Weasley could get hurt, or could die, by coming with you, would you let her?" Mr. Weasley looked intently at Harry over his glasses.

"No, I suppose I'd try very hard to keep her safe," answered Mr. Weasley. "But I wouldn't succeed, Harry—Molly would go through any obstacle to be at my side—she's my best friend, you know. She would never leave me alone if she could do anything about it, just as I would where the situation reversed."

"But you're married," countered Harry, "that's understandable—Ron and Hermione are my friends and I could never live with myself if either of them were to die—they couldn't be together if that happened."

"Harry," said Mr. Weasley, his tone suddenly serious. "We all take a risk every day; we could die any moment and that won't change for Ron or Hermione if they stay behind. I'd even go so far as to say they'd be in more danger going to Hogwarts than with you. You-Know-Who is also very aware that you would go to any length to save them and that makes them a target. You know this better than most."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Weasley," said Harry. "At the very least, I think it's best that I not stay here tonight—I'll return for the wedding—and I won't be back after. Not until I've finished what Dumbledore started."

"Where will you go," asked Mr. Weasley.

"It's best I don't say," said Harry.

"What shall I say to Ron and Hermione?"

"I trust your judgment, but I'm sure Hermione at least will know where I've gone." Harry turned from Mr. Weasley, his thoughts returning to Grimmauld Place for a moment before he asked: "Mr. Weasley—thanks for not trying to stop me—I know Mrs. Weasley would try."

"She would," said Mr. Weasley giving Harry a quick nod, "But I won't, even though I want to. The last time Dumbledore spoke to the Order, his last words were for us to trust you—so I will."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

"It's Arthur, Harry." Harry gave him a brief smile.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley—er, Arthur?"

"Be careful." Harry nodded and Disapparated into the night.

**() () ()**

Mr. Weasley returned to the living room and sat down on his rocking chair, exhausted but determined. He knew it was only a matter of moments before Ron and Hermione realized that Harry had left. Mr. Weasley did not have to wait long; ten minutes later he heard a pair of footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

"Mr. Weasley, have you seen Harry?" asked Hermione. Mr. Weasley chuckled to himself seeing her worried expression. He was glad to see that Ron also appeared concerned about his friend's location.

"I have," said Mr. Weasley. "I just spoke with him not ten minutes ago; we were outside—he needed some fresh air." Hermione let a sigh of relief escape as her tense shoulders dropped.

"Thank goodness," she said. "We thought—for a moment—that he'd left." Mr. Weasley paused for a moment as he mentally prepared himself before answering.

"Oh, he's not here," said Mr. Weasley. "He left."

"WHAT?" Hermione had turned furious. "You let him leave?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"How could you let him do something so rash?"

"I don't think Harry is rash at all, at least not in this particular instance," said Mr. Weasley. "Now sit down please. I have a few things I'd like to say to you before you head off looking for him." Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again as Mr. Weasley's words caught up with her racing thoughts.

"You're—you won't stop us going after him?"

"Merlin's beard, no," said Mr. Weasley quickly. "He needs the both of you, I'm quite sure of that. At any rate, I don't think I could stop you if I tried. Now, if you'd please take a seat and keep quiet—I'd prefer that Molly not find out about this until morning." Ron and Hermione quietly took their seats on the couch with considerable distance between them.

"See, Hermione," said Ron. "Just like I told you, he doesn't—"

"Don't say it, Ronald," warned Hermione. "I can't believe he'd do this—especially after what we talked through."

"Well it's not a mystery to me," said Mr. Weasley. "He heard the two of you arguing earlier today; it would be enough to convince any honorable person to go off on their own." Hermione looked mortified. Ron simply sat in silence, his eyes wide. Mr. Weasley removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

"He wasn't the only one to overhear you either," he said. "I too heard more than enough to not care repeating any of it. You two are his best friends—the only two people in this whole world he'd let help him—are the two people who can't avoid an argument that centers entirely—and selfishly—on him. There isn't a single member in the Order who wouldn't drop everything they are doing to help him, to know what he's going off to do, only to be frustrated they can't do a bloody thing but trust him. I'm disappointed particularly with you, Ron."

"Dad, we—" began Ron but Mr. Weasley cut him off with an upheld hand.

"Don't even get me started with you, Ronald," said Mr. Weasley. He looked angry. "I'm ashamed that you'd even suggest that you and Hermione should return to Hogwarts when Harry needs you more than ever. Whatever he's doing, it was dangerous enough that Dumbledore didn't tell a single person in the Order—something that you two have been made privy too. It is more than apparent to me as well that it's exceedingly dangerous—dangerous enough that Dumbledore weakened himself in a way that only Harry understands—and you'd leave him to fend for himself. I don't know why, Ronald, it is that you are so jealous of Harry—don't deny it," he added cutting Ron off a second time, "that you are so jealous of Harry that you can't understand just how miserable a life he's lived. I think you know in your head that Harry would trade it all in a moment, but I don't think you believe it in your heart. Like Ginny, you can't separate Harry from the Boy-Who-Lived. I'm only going to say this once; if you cannot put your jealousy aside, then I think you should stay behind because Harry deserves better."

"Sorry, dad," said Ron. "I just—I want to help Harry, but I want to be with Hermione too." Hermione glared at Ron.

"And just what was it about going off with Harry was going to prevent that," asked Mr. Weasley

"I dunno," said Ron. "I just wanted to keep her safe, I guess, and—"

"You thought perhaps that Harry would steal her from you," Ron looked down to his feet guiltily.

"How dare you," said Hermione in a low growl. "You were just like this with Victor—But Harry—Harry of all people would never—Oh I should just hex you and be done with it." If she had not been furious before, she was livid now. Hermione reached across the sofa and wacked him hard in the head.

"Bloody hell," whined Ron as he rubbed the right side of his forehead.

"We've been through this already," scolded Hermione, "we're friends and that's how it's going to stay—I wasted a whole year waiting on you—to pursue me—to see if you'd grown up—and it's quite clear you haven't."

"Enough, you two, please," said Mr. Weasley.

"Mr. Weasley—Please—do you know where he's gone," asked Hermione. Mr. Weasley shook his head.

"He didn't say, Hermione. He said you'd know where to find him. I'll only say the same to you that I did to Ron; if you cannot keep the discord between you and Ron separate from Harry, you should stay behind as well. Whatever happened that night with Dumbledore is clearly eating away at him—he doesn't need his two best friends bickering at each other."

"Mr. Weasley, I've been more than clear just now," said Hermione, "about Ron and I's relationship. Unless Ron suddenly finds his emotional range to be greater than a teaspoon, there won't be anything further between us."

"Harry doesn't know that," said Mr. Weasley quickly.

"Then I'll tell him," she said. "Harry was my first friend at Hogwarts and is my best friend—he's never left me in all that time—I don't know what I'd do if I lost him—I won't lose him. If Ron does come along then I will do everything I can to get along with him, but I won't leave Harry. Even if that means I can no longer have Ron as a friend," she added, giving Ron a fierce gaze. She stood up and ran upstairs to collect her things and returned with the expandable hand bag she had enchanted. She slipped on her cloak and made her way to the door.

"I'm coming too," said Ron, standing up from the sofa.

"No, Ron," said Hermione. "We've done enough damage together—we both need our space to get ourselves right before we're together with Harry again—you heard your father and he's right. I'll find Harry—I need to earn his trust back and you'll need to do the same."

"I think that's wise," said Mr. Weasley. "Harry said he'd be back tomorrow for the wedding so you can see him then, Ron."

"Sounds like something Harry would say just so you'd let him go," said Ron.

"I don't think so," said Mr. Weasley. "He had no reason too—I wasn't going to stop him from leaving."

"How do you know where he went, Hermione," asked Ron.

"I think I know where he is," said Hermione. And with that, she walked out the door and Disapparated; it was time to see that memory.

**() () ()**

Harry sat in the darkness at the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. It was comforting to Harry in some unexplainable way, to sit in the shadows and think as the darkness helped him to focus. He knew he couldn't stay in Grimmauld place forever despite the new Fidelius charm in place. The horcruxes would not destroy themselves. His mind raced between the possible horcrux items to desperately pondering who R.A.B was and if the locket had been destroyed. Harry also worried about his friends. What would they do when they found out he'd left? Would Mr. Weasley tell them why? He knew that Hermione at least would know where to find him. Still, he was unsure what he would say. He knew she'd be upset and he hoped he'd find some way to prove to her he'd never come between her and Ron.

"Harry Potter!" Harry felt his heart stop; it was Hermione. She did not sound happy.

"In here," said Harry, his voice echoing into the empty hallway. Moments later the kitchen was bathed in brilliant light and Hermione stood in the doorway of the kitchen her wand pointed directly at him. Harry braced himself for what he knew would come next—but it never happened. Instead, Hermione had thrown her arms around him.

"Don't ever do that to me again," she said. Harry was reeling from shock.

"I thought for sure you were about to jinx me," he said.

"I still might," she said. "But for now I'm just happy you made it here in one piece. It was foolish for you to leave by yourself." Harry looked away.

"Where's Ron," he asked while avoiding her eyes.

"He's still at the Burrow—don't worry—you'll see him tomorrow."

"I don't want to come between you two, Hermione," said Harry. "Ron's right, you should both go—"

"Ron and I are not together, Harry," interrupted Hermione. "We never were and we never will be as far as I'm concerned. That conversation you heard—you didn't hear everything; I told Ron I could never be with anyone who put themselves before their friend. I know he cares about you, Harry, but he still hasn't grown up, and I can't be with someone who still gets jealous over their best friend who happens to be wanted by the most powerful dark wizard of all time. Perhaps someday if he grows up—but I don't see that happening soon and I'm not going to wait forever."

"But, Hermione—I thought you two—that you liked him?"

"I did, Harry, but he hasn't changed," said Hermione sadly. "I thought he would, after all this time—all we do is argue. I'll still be his friend, that won't change. But enough about Ron and I, Harry—" she pulled gently on his face so they looked eye to eye with each other, "—I will never abandon you. So don't think you'll be able to leave me behind while you do something careless and heroic. You were my first friend, Harry, and you're my best friend." Her eyes were glistening with tears waiting to burst. Harry wiped the bottoms of her eyes gently with his thumbs as a stray thought raced through his mind.

_She's beautiful when she cries._

"I'm sorry I worried you, Hermione. I just had to leave."

"I'd want to leave too, if it were me," said Hermione, breaking from the hug. "That's why I didn't jinx you, but be warned," she continued as she drew pressed her wand firmly to his chest, "If you leave me behind ever again, Voldemort will be the least of your worries."

"Noted," said Harry, looking at her wand nervously.

"Good," said Hermione. "Now, let's go to the living room—it's time to see that memory."

"Not tonight, Hermione," objected Harry. "I'm not ready for it."

"Of course not," replied Hermione softly, "That's why I'm here—that's why Dumbledore asked me to do it—because he knew you couldn't do it by yourself." She took his hand and guided him from the kitchen to the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, Hermione pulled from her enchanted hand bag the Pensieve, setting it between them on the table in front of them.

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," she said in the same soft, tender voice. "No matter what I see tonight, I will not think any less of you." She picked up her wand and placed it to Harry's temple.

"Don't I have to do it, Hermione?"

"Just concentrate on the memory – I'll do it this time—I'll be gentle." Harry nodded and turned his thoughts to the cave; everything was dark, the wet jagged edges of the cliffside glistened in the moonlight and the bitter cold of seawater crashed against them.

"Are you ready?" Harry nodded, his thoughts still focused on the cave entrance.

"_Subsidium Memoria_," chanted Hermione. A few moments passed and Harry no longer felt the wand tip against his head and opened his eyes. Hermione gently flicked the memory into the Pensieve and looked to Harry. She grabbed his hand with hers and held firmly.

"I will never tell anyone what I see tonight, just like I'll never tell anyone about the other memories you've shared with me," said Hermione. "Even if you let me share them I don't think I would—I know it's completely selfish, but they're special to me—just like you. Do you trust me, Harry?"

"I do, Hermione," said Harry after a moment.

"Ready?" Harry nodded. They both stood, took a deep breath, and plunged into the Pensieve.


	9. Share the Burden

**Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay everyone. This was a tricky chapter, but I think you'll enjoy it. There's a nice Harry and Hermione moment at the end as a reward for your patience. Okay, not really a reward, because that's where the story naturally took things. **

**As per usual; I do not own Harry Potter! **

**Chapter Nine: Share the Burden **

Dumbledore stood from behind his desk with a grave but concerned look behind his half-moon spectacles. Harry and Hermione stood to one side of the headmaster's office as the memory played before them. Hermione could tell there had been tension between them.

"I do not wish to discuss the matter any further. Now, do you wish to come with me tonight?"

"Yes," said young Harry.

"Very well: I take you with me on one condition, that you obey any command I might give you at once, and without question."

Harry nodded.

"Be sure to understand me, Harry," said Dumbledore gazing at Harry intently. "You must follow such as orders as 'run,' 'hide,' or 'go back.' Do I have your word?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I tell you to hide, you will do so?"

"Yes."

"If I tell you to flee, you will obey?"

"Yes."

"If I tell you to leave me and save yourself, you will do as I tell you?"

"I—"

Hermione watched the conversation attentively; she could see the pained response Harry had given the headmaster. Harry would never leave anyone behind if he could help it. Hermione gave his hand a quick squeeze.

"Harry," said Dumbledore. "Your word, please." Silence fell between them.

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. Fetch your Invisibility Cloak and meet me in the entrance hall in five minutes' time."

**() () ()**

Harry and Hermione stood overlooking the moon-lit sea. Dumbledore pointed towards the dark fissure of the cliff side.

"You will not object to getting a little wet?"

"No," said young Harry. Dumbledore nodded.

"Take off your Invisibility Cloak—there is no need for it now—and let us take the plunge." Harry and Hermione gave one another a quick glance and plunged in after them. It was an odd sensation; they could not feel the icy water, nor did they feel the exertion of swimming against the waves. Soon they found themselves at the entrance of the cave. Hermione watched in awe as Dumbledore worked silently as his hands groped the slippery walls while he murmured words in a language she did not recognize.

"Yes, this place has known magic," he said. "The entrance is here. It is concealed." Dumbledore pointed his wand at the rock and casted an unknown and silent spell. An arched outline appeared briefly, blazing white. After a few more minutes, he had conjured a silver knife.

"So Crude," said Dumbledore.

"What is it, Professor?"

"Payment must be made." Dumbledore held up his injured hand turning it palm-side up and exposing some of his forearm.

"You've got to give the door something?"

"Blood," said Dumbledore.

"_Blood?"_

"I said it was crude. The idea, as I am sure you have guessed, is that your enemy must weaken him- or herself to enter. Oh, Tom, once again you fail to grasp that there are much more terrible things than physical injury."

"But, if you can avoid it…"

"Sometimes, it is unavoidable." Dumbledore held the blade tip to his exposed forearm of his injured hand.

"Professor—I'll do it, I'm—" But Dumbledore had merely smiled and with a quick flash of silver, droplets of dark glistening blood peppered the rock face. Hermione clung to Harry.

"You are very kind, Harry, but your blood is worth more than mine." Dumbledore gave his forearm a quick prod with the tip of his wand and the cut healed instantly. "That seems to have done the trick." The doorway had revealed itself permanently, the rock wall vanishing as though it had never been there. "After me, Harry, and keep your wand out."

Harry and Hermione followed behind them. The black glassy surface of the underground lake was just discernable by the misty green light in the distance where Harry knew the fake Horcurx rested.

"Stay close to me, Harry, and be careful not to step into the water." Harry and Hermione followed behind.

"This place is unsettling," whispered Hermione.

"You've no idea," said Harry, more to himself.

"Professor, do you think the Horcrux is here," asked young Harry.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure it is. The question is, how do we get to it?"

"We couldn't try a Summoning Charm?"

"Certainly we could," said Dumbledore. "Why don't you do it?" Harry allowed himself the smallest smile, despite knowing how grim things were soon to turn. He knew now, that Dumbledore was simply allowing him to try—he'd known that Voldemort would not have allowed the Horcrux to taken so easily. Hermione screamed in his ear a moment later as the first of the Inferi broke the lake's surface.

"Harry, what was that?"

"An Inferius," said Harry.

"I can't believe someone would do such evil." Harry only nodded in reponse.

Dumbledore halted before them, gave his small proclamation of discovery and reached into the empty air. A moment and a wand tap later, a thick coppery green chain appeared from nothing. Dumbledore gave the chain another tap of his wand and it immediately began to coil itself on the narrow bank of the lake. Several minutes passed when finally, a small boat as green as its chain broke the surface. Harry could see that Hermione was just as surprised as he'd been when he first witnessed Dumbledore display his magical prowess.

"Professor, will the things in the water attack us, or are we safe because we are in Voldemort's boat?"

"I think we must resign ourselves to the fact they will, at some point, realize we are not Lord Voldemort. Thus far, however, we have done well; they have allowed us to raise the boat. Voldemort would have been reasonably confident that very few wizards would have been able to find the boat. We can feel confident, however, that Voldemort will have set other obstacles ahead that only he believes he can penetrate. We shall see."

"The boat does not appear to be built for two people."

"Voldemort will not have cared about the weight, but the amount of magical power crossing his lake. I do not think you will count, Harry: You are underage and unqualified. Voldemort would never have expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place: I think it unlikely that your powers will register comparted to mine—which is Voldemort's mistake, Harry—age is foolish and forgetful when it underestimates youth. Now, be careful not to touch the water." Hermione got into the boat, her hand outstretched to Harry.

"Harry," she asked. Harry took one step back and shook his head adamantly.

"I can't," he said. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"I'll be with you this time." Harry shook his head a second time, turned on his heels and stared up into the darkness of the cavern ceiling above him.

"Just remember this is a memory; nothing can hurt you." Before Hermione could say another word, she watched Harry float upward and out of the memory, leaving her alone.

**() () ()**

The boat inched forward through the water with hardly a ripple to disturb the glassy surface of the lake. Their destination was clear; a small protruding island at the center of the lake where the eerie green glow emanated from. Hermione continued to watch Harry; she could tell he struggled to keep his fear from showing. She allowed herself to smile briefly; while she'd always prided herself and picking up on people's emotions, Harry's had become significantly easier to recognize after witnessing the graveyard memory. Harry looked down into the lake and almost jumped out of the boat in shock.

"Sir, I saw a body in the water." Hermione took a quick glance and saw not only one body, but several. She felt her heart slip into the bottom of her stomach and back again. _Was this what frightened Harry so much about this memory? Had they been attacked by the horrible creatures that lay beneath the surface? _

"I am sure you did, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly.

"Will it attack us, sir?"

"We have nothing to fear from them while they are resting peacefully below, Harry; however, should they rise, like all creatures that dwell in darkness, we will employ the power of warmth and light."

"Professor?"

"Fire, Harry," clarified Dumbledore. "They are corpses only, bewitched to do the bidding of Lord Voldemort; we have nothing to fear from those who are long dead any more than we have to fear the darkness. Voldemort, of course, fears both. It is the unknown we fear, nothing more."

"Sir, what you said earlier, about Voldemort not expected a sixteen-year-old to reach this place?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Well, he was right, wasn't he? I never would have found this place on my own—never would have figured out how to get here or find this boat—"

"You forget, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore, "that I have spent considerable time researching Voldemort and his activities, as well as having taught him much of what he knows: You on the other hand, have had your focus split between many events. Having observed you and your friends during your past years at Hogwarts, I can confidently say you would have found a way. Why do you suppose I brought you with me, Harry?"

"You said you'd let me help, like I asked you."

"While this is true, I would have offered—no—requested your assistance because I need you to understand that you cannot do this on your own. I discovered this myself with the incident at Gaunt house. Working alone is among Voldemort's greatest weaknesses; remember our lessons, Harry: Voldemort operates alone. It would never occur to Voldemort that more than one person could ever enter his sanctuary. As such, his defenses will not anticipate more than one witch or wizard attempting to gain entry of his wards that protect his Horcruxes."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"You'll still help me with all of these Horcruxes—until they're all destroyed?" Hermione felt her heart twist. His pleading shook her to the core and was not helped by Dumbledore's reaction. The headmaster's face flushed briefly with sorrow, but was gone in a flash. She was willing to bet Harry did not even notice.

"I will most certainly help you in any way that I can, for as long as I am able, Harry. Know this; you will never be alone." Harry nodded but Hermione could see that Dumbledore's words had not fully reassured Harry's concerns. A somber quietness fell upon them. It was several long minutes later that Dumbledore once again broke up the silence.

"Nearly there, Harry." Moments later they had arrived at the small center island as the boat bumped lightly into the smooth rock. Hermione assumed the island had been placed by Voldemort as the rock did not match the geology of the cave. At the center of the island was a pedestal and a basin that Hermione thought resembled a Pensieve. She stood to the side of the rock as Dumbledore and Harry gathered around the pedestal. Unable to resist the temptation, Hermione walked to the pedestal and stood beside Harry, looking down in to the basin. It was a liquid of some sort, emerald in color, similar to Harry's eyes.

"What is it," asked Harry quietly.

"I am unsure," said Dumbledore. "Something far more worrisome than blood or bodies, I fear." Dumbledore rolled back the sleeve of his robe over his blackened hand and stretched out the tips of his burned fingers toward the potion's surface.

"Sir, no—"

"I cannot tough," said Dumbledore quietly. "You try." Hermione watched Harry put his hand into the basin, but like Dumbledore, his hand appeared to meet some invisible barrier.

"Step aside, please, Harry," said Dumbledore. Dumbledore was now concentrated upon the contents of the basin while his wand moved in dazzling complicated formations as he chanted several indiscernible incantations. Several long minutes passed before Dumbledore withdrew his wand from the basin.

"Is it in there," asked Harry. "The Horcrux?"

"Oh it assuredly is, Harry," answered Dumbledore. "But how to get it? This potion cannot be penetrated by hand, vanished, parted, scooped up, or siphoned away, nor can it be Transfigured, Charmed, or otherwise made to change its nature." Dumbledore then twirled his wand and conjured a crystal goblet.

"It would appear the only way to remove the potion is to consume it." Hermione inhaled deeply as a dawning comprehension fell upon her; this was how Dumbledore had been weakened. She watched helplessly as Harry started to plead with the headmaster.

"No!"

"Only by drinking it can I empty the basin and see what lies in its depths."

"What if it kills you?"

"I do not think it is Voldemort's intention to kill anyone with this potion," said Dumbledore. "Lord Voldemort would not want to kill the person who reached this island."

"Sir," said Harry, "This is _Voldemort_ we're talking about here."

"I'm sorry, Harry; I meant to say he would not want to _immediately _kill the person who reached this island. Do not forget that Lord Voldemort believes that he alone knows about his Horcruxes and would want the person who discovered his secret kept alive long enough for him to interrogate." Harry made to speak again, but Dumbledore raised his hand to silence him. Dumbledore was now frowning as he stared at the emerald liquid.

"Undoubtedly," he said after a few minutes of silence, "this potion will act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. I do not know how it will achieve this: It might paralyze me, make me forget why I am here, or perhaps create so much pain I am discouraged to continue, or render me incapable in an unforeseen way. Therefore, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you must force the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?"

Whatever Hermione could have imagined, she never envisioned the situation playing out before her. She had suspected the potion would be drunk; it made sense in light of Harry's previous admonition that Dumbledore had been weakened before his death. She now knew the reason. While she feared what she was about to witness, Hermione could not ignore the deep pain that lingered in Harry's face; it brought her to tears.

"You remember the condition on which I brought you with me?"

"Sir, couldn't we—"

"You swore, did you not, to follow any command I gave you?"

"Yes, but—"

"I warned you, did I not, that there might be danger?"

"Sir—"

"You have my orders." Dumbledore took the goblet, dipped it into the potion, filling it near the brim.

"Why can't I drink it instead?" Hermione made to embrace Harry, only to remember he was but a memory and the real Harry was alone somewhere in Grimmauld Place. His voice was so full of desperation.

"Because I am much older, cleverer, and much less valuable. Harry, do I have your word that you will do all in your power to make me drink the contents of this basin?"

"Professor—"

"_Your word, Harry._"

**() () ()**

Harry emerged from the Pensieve and sat down on the couch. He felt guilty leaving Hermione alone in the memory but knew he could not endure having to watch himself force feed Dumbledore the horrendous potion. He was also nervous; when Hermione performed the incantation to take his memory of the cave, Harry also concentrated on the prophecy—after all, how could he not? In Harry's mind, Dumbledore was as necessary to the prophecy as he was. It was Dumbledore who heard it that fateful night, Dumbledore who shared it with him, Dumbledore who died trying to help Harry accomplish what fate had determined he should attempt. He knew if he allowed himself, he could easily argue that the prophecy had been instrumental in the headmaster's death. He could go deeper too; everyone he ever loved was dead because of the prophecy. He knew it unwise, to share it with her. It was not a matter of trust; Hermione was the most trustworthy person he knew. He could not explain the need to share it; he only knew it was right. And that scared him.

**() () ()**

"I don't like…don't want…no more…don't make me…"

"You…you can't stop, Professor," said Harry. "You've got to keep drinking. Here…" Hermione wept as she witnessed the terrible ordeal Harry and the headmaster endured. For Dumbledore she felt both gratitude and anger; grateful that he had taken the potion and not Harry, and angry for forcing Harry's agreement to keep him drinking. But for Harry she wept. She could never know the intimate pain Harry felt as he coaxed and pleaded with the headmaster to continue consuming the unknown potion. She knew that now. Dumbledore had been right; how could Harry have ever told anyone? Immediately she felt another surge of immeasurable gratitude for the gift he had sent to her through Fawkes.

"Make it stop, make it stop!"

"Yes, Professor, here, one more; this will stop it," lied Harry as he forced his eyes shut while Dumbledore took another goblet of potion. Dumbledore screamed.

"It's all my fault," he sobbed. "I did wrong. Please make it stop."

"One more, Professor," said Harry, his voice cracking. Hermione saw the tears in his eyes. Oh how she wanted to hold him.

"No, please don't hurt them!" Dumbledore collapsed to his knees. His face contorted as though subjected to terrible pain.

"Professor, it isn't real," said Harry filling the goblet once more.

"Hurt me instead, please, it's my fault."

"This will, sir, I promise, this one will help," said Harry

"I want to die! Make it stop, make it stop, let me die!" Dumbledore was now retreating as though he saw an assailant advance upon him, pulling himself across the stone by the failing strength of his shaking arms. His screams were filled with agony, echoing through the cavern.

"Drink this, Professor." Dumbledore drank.

"KILL ME!" Hermione turned away, her face buried in her hands. It took every ounce of strength to remain—she needed to see this for Harry.

"This is the last one, Professor," gasped Harry. "This is the last one, I swear." Dumbledore drained the goblet, uttered a rattling gasp and rolled over onto his face.

"No!" shouted Harry, dropping the cup into the basin without any thought of the Horcrux. He stopped down to Dumbledore and heaved him onto his back. His eyes were closed and his mouth agape, his glasses askew…

"No, you're not dead," pleaded Harry. "Not you too—you said it wasn't poison, wake up—_Rennervate_!" A flash of red light pulsed over Dumbledore's chest but nothing happened.

"_Rennervate_—sir—please—"

At last, Dumbledore finally woke.

"Water, Harry."

**() () ()**

Hermione had always been there for him, just like she was now. He thanked whoever was listening for the fateful day Hermione had stumbled into the train compartment. Even then, her first action had been to help Harry; she had fixed his glasses—glasses that had been broken many times by his cousin's fist. He'd never forgive himself for those early weeks he went along with Ron's snide remarks and attitude. They'd been no different than Malfoy. As terrible a thought as it was, he thanked whoever was listening for Halloween night, the renegade troll, and disturbingly, that Voldemort had possessed Quirrell. Had it not been for them, Hermione may never have been part of Harry's life.

**() () ()**

Harry fired several successive curses at the approaching Inferi. They had risen the moment Harry had dipped the crystal goblet into the lake. The mirror-smooth lake churned to life as dead men, women, and even children rose from the depths, their peace disturbed after many long years of silence. Dumbledore struggled to reach his wand while Harry was slowly pulled to the edge of the rock platform. Hermione had to remind herself she was in the midst of memory, and that Harry was alive and both he and Dumbledore managed to escape the cave. Her resolve was tested when Harry succumbed to the many Inferi as they dragged him beneath the water.

Just as Harry disappeared beneath the surface of the lake, Dumbledore had pulled himself to his feet, his wand outstretched before him, cold fury emanating from behind his blue eyes.

"_Devorantis Flammis Solaris Ira!_" Crimson and gold, bright and burning like the sun, a ring of fire erupted from Dumbledore's wand, surrounding the rock platform in a furious consuming heat. Fireballs plunged into the lake after Harry, driving away the Inferi that had dragged him into the lake. It was only know that Hermione understood just what it meant to earn the title of _greatest wizard of the age_. She like so many others had attributed it to his numerous academic accomplishments, his work furthering muggle tolerance, his highly sought after advice—oh how she misunderstood—the magic bursting from the wand of the wizard who stood before her giving undeniable witness to the absolute power he commanded at his fingertips. It was only know she understood what they had lost; a man unlike any other. A good, selfless man who had just now nearly given himself to help Harry accomplish the impossible; to make Lord Voldemort mortal once more.

Harry was soon on land again, his breathing fast and shallow. Dumbledore reached down and pulled him to his feet before scooping the fake Horcrux from the basin. Just as she made to Follow them back into the boat, the memory began to swirl out of focus.

**() () ()**

Hermione knew exactly where she had been transported: Dumbledore's office was littered with dozens of destroyed instruments, Dumbledore himself seated at his desk, with Harry before him, angry. Hermione felt her heart constrict; this was the night Sirius had died and the night when Harry would have the entire weight of their world dropped on his shoulders.

"It is time I told you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please, sit down. I am going to tell you everything. I ask only for a little patience. You will have your chance to rage at me—to do whatever you like—when I have finished. I will not stop you."

She listened as Dumbledore explained his reasoning for leaving Harry with his terrible relatives, why his mother's sacrifice was the best protection that could be provided to him and why it was so essential he returned every summer. Dumbledore went on to summarize the eventful years that had led to this exact moment and his failure to tell Harry what he needed to know.

"I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects us fools who love to act. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands."

Dumbledore recounted his third and fourth years at Hogwarts, admitting his error in judgement, acknowledging that Harry had already proven himself exceptional.

"My only defense is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another—the greatest one of all."

Dumbledore began to explain the prophecy. How he had gone to interview an applicant for the open Divinations post only to be thoroughly surprised to be face to face with a genuine seer. Dumbledore retrieved his Pensieve from the cabinet next to the wall and placed it upon the desk. He raised his wand to his temple, withdrawing the silvery strand of memory and placed it into the Pensieve. Hermione let out a small gasp as the figure of Sybll Trelawney rose up from the Pensive, her voice deep and hoarse.

"_THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES…BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEIGHT CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES…THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…_"

Dumbledore then went on to explain the prophecy. She was shocked to learn that Neville had narrowly escaped the terrible fate Harry had been handed. She learned of the events that had led Voldemort to attack in the first place, and why there was no question that the prophecy had indeed referred to Harry.

"He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord know not'—"

"But I don't," argued Harry. "I haven't any powers he hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or—or kill them—"

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," said Dumbledore, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight, just as also saved you from possession by Voldemort who could not bear it, and is the same power that has saved your friends as well as yourself many times before. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind to Voldemort—it was your heart that saved you."

"So, in the end, one of us has got to kill the other one?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. For a long time, neither of them spoke. It wasn't until the first sunlight of morning came through the office window that Dumbledore spoke again.

"I feel I own you another explanation, Harry. You may have wondered why I never chose you as a prefect? I must confess…that I rather thought…you had enough responsibility to be going on with." Hermione fought back her own tears as she watched Dumbledore wipe away his own, fully aware of what Harry had just entrusted to her.

**() () ()**

It was just after midnight when Hermione emerged from the Pensieve, her eyes bloodshot and puffy from all the tears. She dropped onto the couch beside Harry and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered into his ear. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, both quietly grateful to one another for their friendship.

"He loved you so much, Harry," said Hermione breaking apart. "They all did; your parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore. So do we, Harry—Ron and Ginny—the Weasleys and Remus—and me. You are not alone."

"I know," said Harry. "That's why I'm scared. Everyone that loved me is dead, Hermione. All that's left is you and Ron, and the Weasleys, and Remus. I know you were mad about me trying to leave and do it on my own but hopefully you understand why I tried."

"I'm scared too, Harry, and I do understand. Believe me, I do." She looked at him and Harry could see she was on the verge of tears once more.

"You alright, Hermione?"

"No." Then, without warning she buried her face into Harry's shoulder. Harry held her tightly once more.

"It's okay," said Harry, trying to comfort her.

"It's n-not," she stuttered between sobs. "My b-best friend is m-marked for d-death and has a b-burden that I c-can't b-begin to imagine, and his f-friends are always f-fighting and arguing, and the only t-thing I c-could do to p-protect you was to erase my p-parents m-memories!"

"Hermione, you, I had no idea—why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to, b-but I n-never g-got the chance." Gradually Hermione regained some composure.

"Why did you erase their memories?"

"Because I've told them too much about you, Harry: You're my best friend after all. It's as much for their protection as it is yours. This way their safer and if by some small chance they are captured, they can't give you away—because they don't know they have a daughter." All the air seemed to have left his lungs.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," said Harry holding her tighter than he'd ever held her while trying to comprehend just what Hermione had done for his sake. He wanted to make everything okay for her, to fix what was broken. "I'm sorry for everything. If you'd never met me—"

"—Don't say it, Harry," warned Hermione. "Don't you dare say it. If I had never met you that troll would have killed me. If I'd never met you I may never have had a single friend in Hogwarts. If I'd never met you I wouldn't know what makes a wizard or witch truly great. None of this is your fault. It's Voldemort's, and his alone."

"Hermione: I could never do this without you—and I'm sorry for ever thinking I could." Hermione smiled and hugged him again.

"I promise, Harry," she said whispering in his ear again, "I will be with you all the way." They held one another for several more long minutes before Hermione whispered once more in his ear, "happy birthday, Harry." Harry simply squeezed her into a tighter embrace.


	10. Making Amends and an Unexpected Gift

**Sorry for the delay everyone! **I promise I have been working on the story; I have most of it plotted now and I'm really looking forward to getting to the end simply because I think you'll like what I've got in store. (Of course, you may end up hating it, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Thank you to everyone who takes the time to review, even when you don't agree with everything I write.

Updates should once again be more regular now, so do stay tuned.

Once again, nothing is mine; it all belongs to her.

**Chapter Ten: Making Amends and an Unexpected Gift**

Harry woke early the same morning. His hand reached across the living room table for his glasses, set them haphazardly upon his nose and scanned the room. Hermione was still deep in sleep on the couch, a blanket he'd covered her in now wrapped snuggly around her. He rose from the armchair across from the couch and quietly went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He was surprised to find plenty of food still remaining in the pantry as well as all the perishables kept fresh under what he assumed to be preserving and cooling charms.

Harry considered himself a decent cook despite having to do it the Muggle way. He'd never learned how to integrate magic into cooking and honestly considered it an easy way out. Not having his aunt or uncle hovering over his shoulders made it much more enjoyable than it had in the past. The quietness of the kitchen allowed his thoughts to wander.

Hermione had always been there for him and had just as equally always given herself fully to help him even when he'd been wrong. Memories flashed in quick succession all the times Hermione had bailed him out of trouble. He smiled remembering their first encounter during the train ride.

_Thank Merlin for Trevor_, he thought as he threw down several thin slices of ham into the frying pan. It was in that train compartment when Hermione performed her first act of many to make his life better; she had fixed the glasses that been broken years before that encounter. As the memories played in his mind he could not help the growing guilt in the pit of his stomach. He'd been horrible to her during third year.

_Stupid broom_, he cursed silently. Even when she knew it would make him angry, Hermione had only looked out for his safety. He wanted to blame Ron for his own attitude at the time but he quickly brushed the thought aside. If he'd learned anything from revisiting the Halloween memory, it was that he had too often used Ron as an excuse for his behavior. He shook his head. He'd forgiven Ron much sooner during the Tri-Wizard tournament than he had Hermione over his Firebolt. She'd been the one to support him when everyone else thought him an attention seeking prat.

And last year with the accursed potions book. Of all the stupid things to row about, it would be a book. Harry almost smiled at the irony. He recognized that Hermione really hadn't been jealous of the book. No, again it was his safety. He wasn't a prat; he was a proper arse.

Hermione had suffered greatly for their friendship. The slandering, the cajoling, the insults, (helped along by Rita Skeeter), the scrutinized focus of the school, and now, she'd given something so precious Harry felt as though he'd be sick. Harry felt guilty of the short encounter he'd had with Hermione's parents; they had been kind to him and he could still feel the warmth of Mrs. Granger's hug around him. Hermione had given too much. True, she'd done it to protect them but he knew deep down that Hermione had done it to protect him as well. Today he would begin to make amends to her and promised that if they somehow managed their impossible task, he would help find her parents and was further resolved to get to know them better.

Hermione disrupted his thoughts as she entered the kitchen while he finished setting the table. Harry knew neither of them got many hours of sleep, but she looked fairly rested despite their late night. Her bushy hair was frazzled and untamed.

"This looks wonderful, Harry," she said taking a seat.

"I was already awake and it seemed like the thing to do," said Harry. "Couldn't find any pumpkin juice, so how about orange instead?"

"Yes, please." Harry poured the juice for each of them and took a seat across from Hermione.

"I had no idea you were such a good cook, Harry."

"I did a lot of cooking at the Dursely's; this is the first time I can say I enjoyed it."

"I swear they are going to pay someday. If I live through all this they will regret it terribly."

"Hermione, I'm never going back; it's in the past now. Let it go. We have enough to do without having to worry about people I'm never going to see again. Besides, I have a couple things I want to talk to you about."

"I'm all ears."

"I promise I'll go with you to find your parents when this is all over, and I—"

"Stop, Harry, this isn't necessary—"

"Hermione, please, let me finish." Hermione nodded for him to continue.

"I want to help you find your parents when this is all over because I know how much this has cost you; it breaks my heart to know you did it in part for me and my safety. I hope someday I get to know them better and tell them how thankful I am for their daughter's friendship I don't deserve." Harry watched Hermione wipe away the tears that lingered in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione, for how I've treated you over the years. Not standing up to Ron when he insults you, for getting so angry over that stupid broom in our third year, for the slanders and lies you've had to deal with because of our friendship, for throwing aside words of caution, and especially for that stupid book last year. You've only ever had my best interests at heart and I've been rather poor at telling you how much I appreciate you. I really would be a dead man without you and I thank Merlin for Neville's lost toad."

"Oh, Harry," she said, leaping across the table and flinging her arms around him.

"I know this sounds terrible, but I'm thankful for that blasted troll too."

"So am I, Harry, so am I." They held each other for several minutes before breaking apart.

"Thank you, Harry, for saying all of that. It feels like a heavy weight has been lifted from me."

"I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner. I forgave Ron a lot faster for abandoning me during fourth year than I did you and that broom."

"I have always felt particularly slighted by that, but I never wanted to say anything. It means the world to me now."

"Can you forgive me, Hermione? I was supposed to be your best friend and I didn't act like one very much."

"Of course I do, Harry. Like you said, it's all in the past." They ate their breakfast then with nothing but shared smiles between them. When they'd finished, Hermione returned the Pensieve back into her enchanted bag and pulled out a heavy package wrapped in red paper and twine and placed it before Harry.

"What is it," he asked.

"It's your birthday present, of course," said Hermione.

"Must be a book," said Harry, smirking.

"Just open it, prat," responded Hermione. Harry stuck his tongue out and opened the package to reveal the photo album Hagrid had given him. Confused, Harry looked at Hermione questioningly.

"Open it," said Hermione as she tried to hide her excitement. Harry opened the album and immediately noticed something different. Inside the cover Harry found an inscription added in dazzling gold letters, which he also recognized was her handwriting. It read:

_Books, cleverness; there are more important things, like friendship, bravery, and love. _

Harry smiled as that memory floated to his mind. He gradually flipped through the pages, noticing that Hermione had given every photograph a title that Harry thought described each perfectly. However, it was at the back of the album where Harry caught his breath. First was a moving picture of him and Hermione, hugging in the Great Hall in front of all the students.

"This one was taken—"

"—In our second year," said Harry quickly. "You just came back from the hospital wing after being petrified."

"You remember that?"

"I'd never forget it," said Harry, reading the inscription: _Joyous Reunion_. "Who took this photo?"

"Colin Creevey," said Hermione. "I don't have any from first year, because Colin is the only one I know who took any photographs and he didn't come to Hogwarts until our second year. Keep going, there's more."

Next, Harry found another picture of him helping Ron who was throwing up slugs. It had an appropriate title: _The Best of Intentions_.

"I remember that one too," said Harry smiling. "Malfoy had called you Mudblood and he tried to curse him with his broken wand."

"Yes, it was one of his finer moments," said Hermione with a smile. "Pity his wand wasn't working properly."

"I'd have done the same thing if I'd known what that meant," said Harry.

"I know, turn the page." They continued looking through the photos with Harry amazed by the number of pictures Colin had taken of them.

"I didn't even know he'd taken all these," said Harry as he watched his younger self chase Malfoy and his goons with an incomplete Patronus. "That was a good day, considering everything."

"This one is my favorite," said Hermione, turning the page again. It was Hermione in her Periwinkle Blue dress as she descended from the staircase, with Harry in the foreground, his mouth hanging wide open in shock. Again, Hermione had captioned it perfectly: _She's a Girl!_ Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling.

"You know, I wasn't surprised that Ron never got the courage to ask me, but I never asked why you didn't ask me. I know you fancied Cho at the time, but we could have gone as friends at least. I might not have been the prettiest girl but I'd have been a good date you know."

"I didn't ask you because I knew Ron fancied you," said Harry. "And with those terrible articles that Skeeter was writing at the time, I really didn't want to put you in the spotlight more than you already were. And you are beautiful, Hermione. I think my expression in this photo proves I think you're as beautiful as any other girl at Hogwarts."

"You're so sweet," said Hermione, kissing him on the cheek. "But you don't need to flatter me; I know I'm a bit plain."

"Hermione, why do you think that," asked Harry, dropping his smile. "You're one of the most beautiful girls I know. There are a lot of pretty girls at Hogwarts, that's true, but there was only one girl who was standing at my side when the whole castle thought I entered that stupid competition. You're beautiful in a way that no other girl will ever be, at least to me." Hermione quickly swallowed up Harry in a bone-crushing hug. Her face was buried between his neck and shoulder and soon felt the wetness of her tears on his skin.

"No one has ever called me beautiful, Harry, not like that," she said softly. "My parents did of course, but it's different. Thank you."

"I'm just sorry I didn't ask you to the ball like I should have," said Harry reflecting on yet another wrong he had done at her expense. His not asking had resulted in her having to defend herself against Ron and his jealousy in front of many students.

"It's okay," said Hermione dabbing her eyes as she pulled away from the hug. "I understand now why you didn't ask me. You were being thoughtful. For the record, I didn't care what Rita was writing."

"I know," said Harry. "I just couldn't put you through anymore." Hermione smiled and turned the page to the next photo. Harry had just emerged from the Black Lake. He and Ron were wrapped in Blankets and Hermione had embraced both of them. This one read: _What We Treasure Most_.

"You know, if Ron and I hadn't reconciled that would have been you at the bottom of the lake," said Harry. Hermione give him a questioning look.

"Don't get me wrong, you're both my best friends," explained Harry. I'd miss both of you for very different reasons. Ron was my first mate; I can talk with him about Quidditch and do stupid things that get us in trouble for no reason other than to say we can do them."

"Go on," said Hermione. Harry could tell she was curious now.

"First thing you did when we met was fix my broken glasses. Do you know how many times they were broken when Dudley and his gang would beat up on me? Dozens. It was the nicest thing anyone ever did for me, aside from Hagrid giving me my first birthday cake and real present. That's one of many examples that make you different from Ron. Ron would beat up the person who broke my glasses, but you'd fix them."

"If you think for a moment I wouldn't hex the person who tried to harm you then you're horribly mistaken," interrupted Hermione.

"Let me finish," said Harry. "I know you would, but Ron would stop at the hexing. You always go further. You always have. You don't stop at the cause of my problems, you try to solve them and make sure I'm okay at the end of them. Let me say it like this: Ron wanted me at Headquarters that summer because he wanted me to hang out and knew I'd be mad about not being kept in the loop. You on the other hand, wanted me there because you didn't want me to be alone. That's what I'm trying to say. I need both of you, but as much as I feel guilty about it, I think they made a mistake when they put Ron down at the bottom of that lake as my hostage and not you." Once again, Hermione had buried him in her embrace.

"When did you become such a smooth talker, Harry," she asked.

"Dunno," whispered Harry. "Maybe once I realized I owed my best friend more than I'd given in the past, something clicked. Best answer I've got."

"It will work for now," she said beaming. "There are more pictures you know," she said, pointing back to the album. Harry nodded as they continued recounting all their time at Hogwarts. Nearly all the photos where a combination of the three of them; sometimes just he and Ron, a few of Ron and Hermione while many photos were just him and Hermione. As he neared the end, he found a photo he least expected. It was a photo that had been in the prophet the night Sirius had died. Dumbledore had his arm wrapped around Harry as he tried to shield him from ministry officials. The inscription: _The Choice between Right and Easy_.

"I know that photo isn't the most cheerful," said Hermione, "but I find it encouraging like no other. You and Dumbledore stood tall against a fiery storm and neither of you faltered. When it would have been easy and prudent to keep your head down, you kept going forward. You're more like him than you know, Harry."

"Thank you, Hermione," said Harry who initiated the hug this time. "I doubt I'll ever live up to him, but I'll try."

"You already have, Harry. You just won't let yourself believe it."


	11. The Minister's Visit

Hello! Another chapter comes your way. This one is a bit long and doesn't really have any precious Harry and Hermione moments but we really need to get moving along plot wise so this is more or less cannon compliant. I did take some liberties with the conversation with the Minister and Harry. Also, some will probably notice that I have changed the time line very slightly - the wedding takes place on the eve of the Harry's birthday celebration (so please, no flames, I know I made the change).

Dumbledore still has a surprise for Harry, but it will be a while before that comes to paper (or digital copy for the rest of you).

As always, none of this is mine. Well, other than the manipulations I suppose, but I won't be getting paid for those, so it's a moot point.

**Chapter Eleven: The Minister's Visit**

It was just after ten in the morning when Harry and Hermione Apparated into the Weasley fields where the Burrow stood in the near distance conjoined with a large pavilion tent. It took them only a minute of walking to emerge from the fields and even less to walk up to the door. They were greeted by a very relief-stricken Mrs. Weasley.

"Harry! Hermione! Oh thank Merlin you're safe," she said, wringing them both into a tight hug. "Come, come, I've saved you both some breakfast."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but we've had breakfast," said Harry quickly.

"Right, well then, come inside."

Sitting at the kitchen table (still groaning under the voluminous breakfast Mrs. Weasley had prepared) were Fred and George conversing loudly Bill about current Goblin affairs and finance regulations, Mr. Weasley surprisingly hunched over a chess board across from Ron, while Ginny was noticeably absent. It was not until the distinct sound of the door latching did they look up and notice that Harry and Hermione had arrived.

"Excellent," said Mr. Weasley. "Make yourselves comfortable, plenty of breakfast to go around."

"That's alright, Mr. Weasley," said Hermione, "we've already had breakfast."

"Alright then," said Mr. Weasley. "Why don't you two freshen up – not much left for wedding preparations to do other than a few odds and ends. Guests will start to arrive later this evening around five." Harry and Hermione nodded and went upstairs. Hermione was first into the bathroom while Harry returned to Ron's room to get his own change of clothes ready.

A minute later Ron came in with a loud "ahem". For a moment, they both simply looked at each other before Ron left the doorway and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Listen, mate," said Ron, not quite able to look Harry directly in the eye, "I'm sorry you had to hear mine and Hermione's argument yesterday. I know I said some things that you probably didn't like, and er, well, probably made you think I don't want to come along, but, I want you to know that it's not true. I'd be lying if I said I'd rather go looking for Hor—well, you-know-whats—instead of going back to Hogwarts. I definitely let myself get carried away with Hermione and I said some pretty horrible things. I'm going with you mate, and I promise to try and not have so many arguments with Hermione while we're out there."

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was grateful that Ron still wanted to come despite everything that had happened.

"So, how did your mum take it," asked Harry.

"Bloody hell terrifying it was," said Ron as he recalled the morning. "I'm sure half of Britain heard her yelling. It was even worse for Dad—I've never seen her so upset—she almost whacked him upside the head with a frying pan. It was scary mate."

"Sorry I caused it," said Harry guiltily.

"Not your fault," said Ron quickly. "It was ours, Harry. Well, mostly mine I guess. Hermione and me really know how to get under each other's skin."

"Promise me you're going to try to be better with her," said Harry seriously. "She deserves nothing less."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron. "I'll work on it. Anyway, got a couple things still do for the wedding if you want to help, after you shower, of course." Harry nodded. As Ron left the room, Harry couldn't help the small smile gracing his face. He really didn't have to do it alone.

**() () () **

As noon approached, Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley put the final touches on the Champaign table under the reception tent while Hermione helped Mrs. Weasley finish with the heating charms that would activate when the temperature cooled later that night. Ginny was inside preparing the cutlery for the night's feast while the twins were "making special preparations" that neither appeared willing to divulge when pressed.

"Now, Harry dear, why don't you three wait outside a moment," said Mrs. Weasley, pointing to the trio. "I have one more thing I need to do before you come inside."

"Of course, you probably already know what," said Ron when his mother was out of earshot.

"Yeah, but I don't want to ruin this for her," said Harry. "I wouldn't want to disappoint her."

"So when are we leaving," asked Ron in a lowered voice.

"Well, I suppose there's no reason we can't leave tomorrow morning," said Harry, turning to Hermione. "What do you think?"

"I see no reason to stay beyond that," conceded Hermione. "What I'm worried about is do we tell them we're leaving, or do we sneak away?"

"Well, I don't think that Arthur will care," said Harry remembering his conversation from last night. "In fact I'd feel pretty bad not saying goodbye first. It's Molly that has me worried," he added looking to Ron, who gave him an understanding nod.

"Yeah, she'd probably try to put you under an immobilization jinx or two. Trust me, she knows a few, just ask Fred and George."

"I think Harry's right," said Hermione. "They've always opened their home to us; we shouldn't disappear without saying anything. Maybe we can let them know in private tonight so we can avoid any issues tomorrow." They all nodded in agreement as Mrs. Weasley called out to them from the kitchen window.

As Harry entered the kitchen, he was greeted by a large chorus of voices.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!"

A considerable gathering of people were waiting for him, all standing beneath a large banner that read: Happy Birthday, Harry. A large snitch shaped cake was on the table as was a surprising pile of presents. Despite the darkness that awaited him outside the Burrow walls, Harry allowed himself to forget his burdens in the presence of friends and family.

"Mine first," said Tonks as she stepped forward and handed him a small package. Inside was a wand holster.

"It's a safer place for your wand than your pocket," said Tonks. "This one's a bit better quality than the standard issue for Aurors. It repels summoning charms and disarming jinxes, and it has a small potions compartment for storage—usually a vial of Blood-Replenishing Potion—standard for an Auror."

"Thank you," said Harry who immediately started to fasten the holster to his wrist.

"No problem. Simply flick your wrist to the right and the holster will propel your wand to your hand and no further." She then handed out two similar packages to Ron and Hermione. "These are for you two, they're not as good as Harry's, but they function the same way, and will also repel summoning charms and disarming jinxes."

"So no one can disarm or summon our wands unless they are in our hands," Hermione clarified.

"You got it," replied Tonks.

"Wicked," said Ron.

Remus was next and handed Harry a hastily wrapped package. A book: _Spells to Combat the Darkest Arts_. Following Remus was Hagrid, who hadn't bothered to wrap his. It was a pouch of a hideous brown color and slightly furry.

"Mokeskin Pouch," said Hagrid. "Rare, them are; hide anythin' in there, ain' no one but the owner can get it out."

"Thanks, Hagrid."

"Here, Harry," said Fred, shoving a box into his hands. "Prototype invention from our Desperate Distraction line—"

"—Which we won't be making available to the public until the war is over," said George

"—wouldn't want Death Eaters with these—"

"—Anyway, simply wind them up and they will multiply and make one heck of a ruckus."

"And this is yours as well," said Fred, handing another small box. "Don't open it here, though. You'll know what it is."

"Thanks, guys," said Harry. Kingsley was next. He handed Harry a large package.

"This is actually from Alastor," said Kingsley. Harry dropped the package back on the table in shock. He bowed his head not really wanting to open the package. He had done his best to push aside the guilt of the Auror's death.

"It's alright, Harry," said Hermione with a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We're here. You know Mad-Eye wouldn't give you something unless he really thought you'd need it. He wouldn't accept you feeling guilty either. Now open your present." Harry nodded and pulled away at the twine and wrappings. Harry pulled the item from the box, revealing a midnight black flowing robe. It was incredibly soft, much like his invisibility cloak. It was trimmed with the slimmest gold around the sleeves and hood. Inside was lined with soft felt-like material. It was incredibly comfortable.

"Dueling robes," said Hermione.

"Not just any dueling robes," said Kingsley. "This belonged to Alastor himself, and it is one-of-a-kind. You can't tell it by looking, but it's lined inside with dragon hide, charmed to be as flexible as the wearer. You'll never by too hot or cold and dragon hide, as you know, is impervious to minor jinxes and hexes. It also has a minor cushioning charm to prevent minor injuries from falls or what have you."

"I can't take this," said Harry immediately. "Why wasn't he wearing this that night?"

"It wouldn't have saved his life, Harry," said Kingsley solemnly. "Even dragon hide will not stop the killing curse. You need dense, solid objects to do that, and those are usually destroyed in the process. And if you knew Mad-Eye, you can bet that coat of his had the same sort of enchantments. He was insistent you receive this on your seventeenth birthday."

"Why," asked Harry. "It's not like we were close."

"He never had anything less than praise for you, kiddo," said Tonks. "Whenever your name came up his magical eye would stop twirling about and he'd get this ridiculous smirk on his face and he'd say the same thing: _If everyone had half the vigilance Potter did, the Dark Lord would have a hell of a time._ I think if he'd had the chance he would have taken you as an apprentice." Harry was lost for words as silence fell on the room. Kingsley walked up to Harry, placed a hand on his shoulder and said:

"Harry, we all wished Mad-Eye was still here, but he isn't. What you can do now, is to honor him and take every precaution to not meet the same fate. _Constant Vigilance_."

Harry nodded.

"Good. Now, I'm afraid I must return to the Ministry. Happy Birthday, Harry." And without another word, Kingsley left the kitchen. An uncomfortable quiet fell upon the kitchen once more.

"Here, Harry, this one is from Arthur and I," said Mrs. Weasley, breaking up the silence. It was a watch like the one Ron had received on his seventeenth birthday, but it was clearly previously owned.

"It's now new, like Ron's, I'm afraid, but it's traditional to give a wizard a watch when he turns seventeen, and this one belonged to my brother Fabian," said Mrs. Weasley. "I'm afraid he didn't really take care of his possessions all that well but—" Harry immediately hugged her and tried to say all the emotions coursing through his body without words. He knew Fabian had lost his life in the last war.

"Okay, next one," said Ron, handing Harry the next package. "It's from me, mum and dad, Bill, Charlie, Ginny, and Fred and George." Harry opened the package and pulled out three tickets to the next Quidditch World Cup.

"Something to look forward too, you know, when this is all over," said Ron. "It's being hosted in the States two years from now—special agreement between our ministry and theirs—you know, because of You-Know-Who and all." Harry grinned and thanked everyone.

The lunch hour passed by quickly as everyone enjoyed conversation. Harry, Ron and Hermione had mostly stuck together not really wanting to be involved with the more serious conversations the others were engaged in. They knew it would be soon when they would set out on the most important task of the war and they couldn't help their perceived small indulgence of selfishness to be normal young adults without the weight of the world on their shoulders. However, their carefree time was cut short when Arthur made a sudden announcement.

"The Minister has just arrived," said Arthur looking out the kitchen window.

"I didn't know to expect him," said Molly as she made a mad swipe of her wand towards the dirty dishes which began to clean themselves.

"I wasn't aware of the visit," admitted Arthur.

"Mr. Weasley—"

"Arthur, Harry—"

"Yes, er, Arthur, do you mind if I or, we," he said indicating to Hermione and Ron quickly, "disappear? I'm not exactly on friendly terms with the Minister right now."

"Regardless, Mr. Potter, I must insist you do nothing of the sort, at least until I have conducted the Ministry business I am obligated to carry out," said Scrimgeour from the doorway. "I can assure you it will be relatively brief and unfortunately, is not a particularly happy circumstance. And I will also require the presence of your two friends here, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger. Arthur, is there somewhere we may settle down for a few minutes, in private?"

"Yes," said Arthur quickly. "You may use the sitting room. It's been set aside for the wedding gifts. No one will disturb you."

"Thank you," said Scrimgeour as he turned his gaze to Harry. "If you'd lead the way, Mr. Potter?"

Once they were all seated, Scrimgeour opened his briefcase and pulled out a rather thick stack of blank parchment and laid it upon the living room table and looked at Harry.

"I trust you know what this is," said Scrimgeour briskly, diving right into the reason of his visit. "Or at the very least, have your suspicions as to what this is?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but all I can see is a bit of parchment," said Harry, before adding, "but I'm sure it's a lovely stack of parchment—Ministry's finest I'm sure."

"You can dispense with the humor, Mr. Potter," said Scrimgeour. "For the record, it is fine parchment indeed, arranged by Albus Dumbledore." Harry's eyes widened. Scrimgeour pulled his wand from his jacket and tapped the parchment twice. Immediately, the stack of parchment unfolded itself and levitated into the air. Scrimgeour turned his head and began reading as the letters of the parchment began to reveal themselves.

"I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, being of exceptionally sound mind, failing but operable body, and with high spirits all things considered, affirm this last will and testament, amended on the fifteenth day of the month of May in this year of 1997, do hereby dispense the remnants of my earthly possessions (and last minute advice for those who would humor an old man and hear it) with the following instructions:

"Firstly, to Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator in hopes that when darkness descends around him, it will show him the light. Additionally, should he have ears willing to indulge an old man's rambling, I would remind him that life can be wasted in the attempt to achieve what those before us have already achieved and it does not make us great; rather, glory awaits the one who sets out on his own path."

The Minister paused, reached into his briefcase and pulled out a neatly cloth-wrapped cylindrical object and presented it to Ron. Ron took it, pulled away the cloth to reveal a small, silver cylindrical tube that Harry thought looked a great deal like an oversized muggle lighter.

"Brilliant," said Ron. He examined the Deluminator in his hand before looking back to the Minister. "What er, does it do, exactly?"

"You don't know," asked Scrimgeour with a hint of disbelief in his voice.

"No idea," replied Ron.

"Give it a click," offered Scrimgeour. Ron did as instructed and clicked the Deluminator once. Immediately the lights in the sitting room were pulled from their fixtures and disappeared inside the canister of the Deluminator.

"Wicked," said Ron. He clicked it again and the lights flew from the Deluminator back into their respective fixtures, returning light to the room.

"A very unique item," said Scrimgeour, "possibly one-of-a-kind and certainly one of his own design. Tell me, Mr. Weasley, were you and Dumbledore close? I should tell you that Dumbledore named very few people in his will; the majority of his bequeaths were directed to Hogwarts, which most predominately contained his vast personal library. Yet, he names you three personally in his will over those who have known him much longer, and with the exception of Mr. Potter, were much closer to him than either you or Miss Granger. Of course, Dumbledore was an exceptionally private person so I may be hasty in my assumption."

"Well we've talked a few times," said Ron. "Usually just small chatter and Dumbledore was always very friendly to my family, especially dad and mum. He once awarded me fifty points for beating McGonagall's chess set." Scrimgeour gave Ron a calculated look before returning to the will.

"To Miss Hermione Jane Granger, I leave my own personal copy of "The Tales of Beedle the Bard," trusting she will find it most illuminating and will serve as a reminder the rewards of diligence, scrutiny, and intellect. To her I also offer this small tidbit of advice; knowledge is powerful and worthy of pursuit; however, I would likewise stress the importance of never discounting a theory or any story regardless of its absurdity until proven false. Many wise and knowledgeable people have missed what is right before them simply for the reason that the facts did not line up as they thought they should."

Again, Scrimgeour reached into his briefcase and presented a small leather bound book.

"I would ask the same to you, Miss. Granger, as I did young Mr. Weasely. Would you consider yourself close to Dumbledore?"

"Perhaps not as close as others," said Hermione as she opened the book, "but certainly closer than others. I've had several personal conversations with the headmaster, and frankly this gift does not surprise me; he knew I loved to read."

"Indeed, so it would seem. But what do you make of his advice? Why the cautionary warning to you, and the reminder to Mr. Weasley about choosing his own path? Hidden messages perhaps, or simple encouragement for a secret task to not be discouraged?"

"Or perhaps it's simple advice to living a good life," said Hermione briskly. "He was a professor, was he not?" Scrimgeour gave Hermione a quick nod before once again returning to the will.

"To Mr. Harry James Potter, I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match to serve as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance, courage, and skill. To him, I owe more than simple advice or the ramblings of an old fool who has made many mistakes in life, some, regrettably, that have had adverse effects to his own life. Your parents are undoubtedly immeasurably proud of you and the man you have become, as am I. I have left a letter to be presented to you to read on your own time (please do not do so now). It is enchanted rather skillfully (if I do say so myself) to remain sealed until you open it. No one else will be able to do so; therefore you do not need to fear that it has been read by prying eyes."

For the third time, Scrimgeour reached into the briefcase and presented Harry firstly with the letter and finally, held out the Snitch in his outstretched hand. Harry reached for the Snitch and held it in his hand. Scrimgeour eyed the Snitch intently as though waiting for something to happen while Harry gave the Minister a confused look.

"Interesting," said Scrimgeour once it became apparent nothing miraculous was going to occur.

"What's interesting," asked Harry.

"Snitches have flesh memories," said Hermione. "Remember Harry? They only open when touched by the Seeker who caught it."

"Precisely, Miss Granger," said Scrimgeour, looking triumphant.

"But it didn't open it when I touched it," said Harry. "Maybe it's broken."

"Perhaps it won't open until it's supposed too," offered Scrimgeour. "Dumbledore was without question the most gifted wizard of our time, possessing prodigious skill. None-the-less, it makes one wonder what Dumbledore thought so important as to conceal it within an unsuspecting item such as a Snitch." At last they had come to it, thought Harry.

"There is yet one other item that Dumbledore left for you, Mr. Potter." Scrimgeour turned once more to the will and continued to read.

"Finally, I leave the Sword of Godric Gryffindor to Harry James Potter as a last reminder of the value of bravery and loyalty."

"Dumbledore left me the sword," asked Harry truly beside himself.

"Yes, unfortunately, the sword of Godric Gryffindor is not Dumbledore's to give," said Scrimgeour with another look of triumph. "As an important historical artifact, it belongs to—"

"To Harry," said Hermione. "It chose him; he was the one who found it. The Sorting Hat presented it to him."

"According to various historical sources and the opinions of Ministry professionals, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor," said Scrimgeour. "I do not mean to imply that Mr. Potter is not worthy of such a weapon, only that the sword presenting itself to him does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, regardless of what Dumbledore may have intended." He turned his attention from Hermione and rounded back on Harry.

"Why would Dumbledore leave you the sword of Godric Gryffindor? Is it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy the Dark Lord?"

"If it was that simple, don't you think Dumbledore would have already done it," said Harry coolly. "Honestly, Minister, you were once the head of the Auror Department—you should know better than most that something that ridiculous wouldn't work. I hope that's not why you've been shut up in your office all this time, trying to break into a Snitch." Harry could feel he was building steam and was about to blow.

"People are dying and you're chasing fantasy. Voldemort chased me across three countries, killed Mad-Eye, and you're wasting time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. You're no better than that idiot Fudge."

"You go too far," shouted Scrimgeour, pulling his wand and pressing it hard into his chest where it emitted heat, burning a hole in Harry's shirt. Ron and Hermione stood in response, their own wands raised at the Minister of Magic.

"No," said Harry, waving from them to lower their wands. "He may be incompetent but he's still the Minister of Magic—he can have us arrested."

"Good to know you have a brain, Potter," said Scrimgeour, his voice rising with each word. "Remembered I'm not Dumbledore, who let your insolence and insubordination run rampant. You may wear that scar like a crown, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job. It's time you learned some respect!"

"It's time you earned it, Minister," said Harry in an equally loud voice. He raised his scared hand with the words: _I Must Not Tell Lies_. "Don't forget the Ministry has itself to blame for how this war is going. I told Fudge he was back. I told the Ministry he was back. I gave them the names of the Death Eaters that returned to him. You want loyalty from me; where were you when everyone was discrediting Dumbledore and me, hmm? The Ministry gave him a year's head start to rebuild all his old ties, to infiltrate the Ministry, to run completely unchecked. I owe you nothing."

"I was not the Minister of Magic at the time, as you pointed out, Potter," said Scrimgeour aggressively.

"And you were the Head of the Auror office, where you not? What were you doing?"

"I had no authority—"

"To wage war, no you probably didn't," said Harry. "But you could have sought out Dumbledore, you had resources to verify, and you didn't." At this, Scrimgeour developed a rather sour look. "You are as much to blame as Fudge. Worse, is that you continue to make his mistakes. Stop lying to people. Stop trying to pretend you have it under control. Do the right thing, not the easy thing."

"You should head your own advice, Potter," Scrimgeour started, but soon the floor trembled, followed by the sounds of several running footsteps. The door of the sitting room burst open as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Remus, and Tonks ran in.

"We heard raised voices," said Arthur, his wand drawn. "We thought, well, it appears we misjudged—sorry Minister." Like a kid caught in the midst of wrong-doing, Scrimgeour took a few steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he'd made in Harry's T-shirt. He appeared at least, to regret his loss of temper. However, when he spoke, his voice was still full of anger.

"I regret your attitude, Mr. Potter," said the Minister. "You are determined to believe that the Ministry does not desire what you—what Dumbledore—desired. We should be working together."

"I don't like you methods, Minister," said Harry. "And it's not working together you want—it's my face on a poster saying what a spectacular job the Ministry is doing against Voldemort and his cronies." Scrimgeour winced at the name of the Dark Lord. Harry scoffed.

"Don't you get it," asked Harry gravely. "You expect to win a war against someone whose very name terrifies you; if you can't say Voldemort, you can at least say Tom Riddle, can't you? This war is more than just raising a wand against the bad guy, Minister. Voldemort thrives in fear—don't you think he inspires enough without fearing his name as well?"

Scrimgeour's expression hardened. He turned on his heels without another word and limped from the room. Harry called after him.

"Minister!"

"What it is, Potter? I have more important things to do today than continue this irrational argument anymore."

"The sword," said Harry, holding his hand out expectantly. "After all, you, like so many people as you so eloquently put, believe me to be the chosen one. If you believe that and if you have any trust in Dumbledore, then perhaps you should follow his wishes?"

"Be that as it may, Potter, I cannot give you the sword. Its current location is unknown. It is missing."

"Missing?"

"Yes," said the Minister. He once again turned his back to Harry and continued into the kitchen and out of the Burrow.

"What did he want," asked Mr. Weasley.

"To give us what Dumbledore left us," said Harry, "and to make me a poster child once more."

"Well he certainly appears to have failed in that," said Remus bemusedly. "Shall we return to our celebration? We still have a wedding this evening and there is cake to be eaten. With a quick glance to Ron and Hermione, Harry nodded and the three of them (Dumbledore's keepsakes stowed away in their pockets) and returned to the kitchen. They had a lot to talk about later.


	12. Dancing with Barney

Hello all. Sorry for the very long lapse in publishing. I've been out of town several times over the last three or four weeks, with yet another trip this weekend. (Praises, as this will be the last one for a while). This means I'll have time to write.

This was going to be a longer chapter, as I'd hoped to get into another escape sequence that deviates a bit from the original DH storyline. Unfortunately, this would be a very large chapter and while I know several of you don't mind chapter length, it simply didn't feel like one conclusive chapter. Incidentally, the logical break for me appeared to also be the logical break for Rowling, so I guess I should trust the muse in this instance and will simply have to ask your forgiveness for asking you to wait once more for the next chapter. I will try, (but not promise) to have the next chapter up before I go on my next trip.

Shout out to Gandalf's Beard for being the soundboard I needed for fleshing out the last bit of story plot I had planned for this endeavor.

As usual, none of this is mine. But I will at least claim that Harry and Hermione's romance in this particular story-well that's not mine either, regrettably. I can still pretend and that's enough for now.

Cheers and thanks for all your patience and encouraging reviews.

**Chapter 12: Dancing with Barney**

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not given much opportunity to talk about Dumbledore's strange gifts as they had been herded from Harry's birthday lunch to final wedding preparations. As soon as they'd dressed, (and only after Harry consumed a dose of Polyjuice Potion) Harry and Ron were quickly ushered to join Fred and George outside the tent in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of family and guests. Though Harry had considered the Weasley's family, he was unsure how he felt to look like one of them, even if the hair had been acquired from a similarly looking Weasley-look-a-like Muggle boy in Ottery St. Catchpole. More difficult to come to terms however, was his new name: "Cousin Barney."

Evening approached quickly as they four men seated guest after guest to Molly's very specific seating chart. Harry had hardly the time to marvel at the now transformed Weasley fields. Beneath the marquee were row upon row of golden chairs divided into two by the long purple carpet which Fleur would soon march down to meet her future husband. A golden jacketed band made their final adjustments to their stage setup while the numerous wine glasses filled themselves in preparation.

"Too much fanfare," said Fred, seating the last guest and tugging heavily at the collar of his dress robes. "When I get married, you can all wear whatever you like. Mum won't be able to fuss because Georgie here will put her under a Body Bind Curse until it's official."

"Oh, it wasn't too bad, Fred," said George. "She only cried about Percy -the-Git not being here, but really, no one's missing him."

"Indeed," said Fred. "We'll I suppose we'd best find our places before we get trampled by the bridal party—"

"Or the bride," added George. Both nodded in sync and made their way where Bill and the rest of groomsmen awaited. Ron too followed after a quick parting word. This left Harry temporarily alone, so he went to find Hermione, knowing like him, she was not part of the wedding party.

"Hello, Barney," said Hermione with a smile. She was wearing a brilliant sky-blue dress that hovered just above her knees and her hair was tied back in similar fashion as she had during the Yule Ball. Harry smiled in response.

"Shall we find our seats," she asked.

"As George just pointed out a moment ago, I'd rather not be at the receiving end of an upset bride for being out of place."

"More like two upset Mother-in-Law's."

"Agreed." Harry and Hermione took their reserved seats in the second row on the groom side of the aisle.

"So when should we tell them," asked Harry quietly.

"I think during the reception would be best," replied Hermione immediately. "Less chance of being overheard through the music and the guests will all be mingling together in conversation."

"It's settled then," said Harry, more to himself than Hermione, but she had heard.

"Yes, Harry, it is." She gave him an encouraging smile and gently squeezed his hand.

"You know, you can still back out," said Harry in a not-too-serious tone, but hopeful all the same.

"You won't get rid of me that easily."

"And I'll never be grateful enough, Hermione," said Harry in earnest. "But I still think you're crazy to willingly go with me."

"Life is never dull with you around."

"Or safe," countered Harry. He had intended this remark to be in humor, but the tone of his voice betrayed his still deep-rooted belief that he was at fault for the danger of his friends.

"I wouldn't feel safe anywhere else," said Hermione with a quick reach to his hand. This lightened Harry's mood as quickly as it had darkened.

"What sort of music do you reckon the band will play?"

"Well, I've never attended a wizarding wedding before, but I'd imagine it's similar to a Muggle wedding," began Hermione. "There will be the first dance for the newlyweds, followed by a paired dance between the groom and his new mother-in-law and the bride with her new father-in-law. Then they'll open the dance floor and it's a bit of wildcard from there. The music could be anything. Why do you ask, Harry? I don't remember you being all that interested in this sort of thing." Here, Harry had a brilliant moment of inspiration. He gave her a mischievous smile.

"No particular reason, just curious."

"I'm sure Ginny would like to dance with you before you leave."

"I'm sure she would," answered Harry. "But I don't think it's wise."

"Your loss, Harry."

"What about Ron?"

"You want to dance with Ron," giggled Hermione. "I didn't think you'd lean that way, Harry. Then again, you did save him from the depths of the Black Lake."

"You're ridiculous," retorted Harry. "I meant you and Ron."

"Oh," said Hermione, her smile gone almost instantly. "I don't think he's into that sort of thing either. And like I said already, there's nothing of the sort going on between us. I'm just as content to not dance at all."

"But you'd like too."

"Of course I would; I'm a girl, Harry, at a wedding."

"Well seeing as this is likely the last time we're going to be as care free as we can for some time and Ron being otherwise occupied, maybe I can make amends for a previous wrong," said Harry turning serious, but still with a slight smile. "I know I'm "Cousin Barney" and won't exactly be Harry Potter you're dancing with, but would you like to dance with me tonight, Hermione?"

"You want to dance with me?"

"I want to correct a previous error of judgement," said Harry sincerely. "I'll understand though, if you'd rather not…"

"I'd love too, Barney," said Hermione. Then she leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I'll know I'm dancing with you and that's enough. Thank you." They shared another smile as Bill entered the marquee followed by Charlie, Fred, George, and Ron. Fred and George failed miserably in discretely making an inappropriate gesture to Bill as Mrs. Weasley quickly responded by casting a binding spell to keep their hands at their sides, causing scattered laughter throughout the audience.

But the laughing did not last as music began to build and swell, filling the tent in a gradual crescendo of moving sound. Moments later there were a series of "ohs" and "ahs" from the back of the tent as row upon row rose to stand.

"Here she comes, Barney, you need to stand," said Hermione excitedly and pulling him up. Monsieur Delacour and Fleur strode down the aisle at a gentle pace. Harry had never had any difficulty with the Veela appeal, but even he had to admit Fleur was radiant as she walked down the aisle. She wore a simple white dress which under the lights of the tent appeared to shimmer in a silvery glow.

At the platform, Bill stepped forward to receive Fleur from her father, his face radiating with the same glow as Fleur. Stepping up to the platform to meet the soon-to-be-wed couple was the same tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of the two faithful souls before us…"

In the front row, both Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were sobbing quietly into their rather fanciful tissues while a trumpet-like sound blew from the back, the guests keenly aware that Hagrid had taken use to one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned to Harry; her eyes too were full of glistening tears but Harry mostly noticed her beaming smile. For the second time in his life, the stray thought entered his brain. _Merlin, she's beautiful when she cries_. Harry shook the thought from his head and turned his attention back to the podium.

"Do you, William Arthur Weasley, take Fleur Isabelle Delacour to be your wife," continued the minister looking to Bill.

"I do," said Bill, his smile growing ever wider. The minister nodded and turned to Fleur.

"And do you, Fleur, Isabelle, Delacour, take William Arthur Weasley to be your Husband?"

"I do," said Fleur in the loudest, clearest, most confident English she'd ever uttered.

"Hermione, you're squeezing too hard," said Harry, nodding to his hand. Hermione quickly released her grip on him with a quick apologetic glance before returning her gaze back to the front.

"…then I declare you husband and wife, bonded in this life and the next." The minister waved his hand high over the heads of the newlyweds and shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their new entwined figures as they sealed their union with a deep kiss. Fred and George both whistled while Ron and Charlie clapped enthusiastically. Several of the guests cheered. The minister then held up his hands in a clear request for quiet.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please stand up!"

They did so as the minister waved his wand once more and the seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, revealing the Weasley fields outside. They were rewarded with a brilliant gold spread of the setting sun. Another wave of the ministers wand beckoned forth a brilliant gold dance floor as the seats arranged themselves into small clusters around conjured tables while leaving most of the dance floor open.

"Finally, at the request of our newlyweds, please enjoy yourselves to the refreshments and good company."

"Let's grab seats, come on," said Hermione once more grabbing his hand and pulling him through the dispersing crowd. They quickly spotted Luna and a much older man with long, straight white hair dressed in a colorful yet very peculiar yellow robes. Harry presumed this must be Luna's father.

"All right if we join you, Luna," asked Hermione.

"Oh yes," she replied happily. "Daddy's just on his way to give Bill and Fleur our present. I hope they like it." She then turned to Harry with a lopsided stare. Then her eyes widened.

"I didn't realize it was you, Harry," she said brightly.

"How did you know," asked Hermione in a whisper.

"It's easy," said Luna. "It's his eyes. No one else has such intensity in their eyes like Harry, wouldn't you agree, Hermione?"

Hermione struggled to control the blush now glowing on her cheeks. Harry had to chuckle; it was simply Luna's way to be completely oblivious to social norms and speak from her unique perspective.

"Also considering how close in proximity you've been all evening, I think it's rather clear it couldn't be anyone else."

"Ravenclaw without a doubt," said Harry.

"Luna, if you would, it's really important that nobody else knows..."

"Don't worry, Hermione; you're secret is safe with me."

"Thank you," said Harry. Shortly after taking seats, Luna's father returned with drinks, having seen two additional guests at their table.

"Father, this is Hermione Granger, and this is…"

"Barney Weasley," said Harry quickly, extending his hand. "Glad to meet you. Luna's a good friend."

"Yes, she is a special child," said Mr. Lovegood. "The name is Xenophilius, editor to the Quibbler."

"It's a wonderful paper," said Harry. He had never forgotten the man's favor in publishing his exclusive interview.

"Appreciated," said Xenophilius. "I do hope you'll forgive me, Miss Granger, but I was expecting to see Harry Potter here. I wished to tell him he has the Quibbler's full support."

"He couldn't be here tonight, for security reasons and everything," said Hermione quickly. "But I'll make sure it gets back to him."

"Of course," said Xenophilius, nodding curtly. "We'll I'll leave you to mingle as I'm sure you'd rather associate with your peers of age rather than an old eccentric like myself. Luna, watch out for Nargles; they are out in droves tonight."

"Yes, daddy."

"Luna, what was the necklace your father was wearing," asked Hermione.

"Oh, you'd best ask him, he's rather fascinated by the whole thing."

"Why do you want to know, Hermione," asked Harry.

"I'm not sure where, but I've seen that image before. An equilateral triangle divided into two halves down the middle with a circle inside the triangle. It's a symbol; I just don't remember what it represents."

"I'm sure you'll get a chance to ask him."

The band had now taken stage and began to play a soft slow tune to which Fleur and Bill dance in the center of the tent, their audience quite numerous. True to Hermione's prediction, a similar song followed in which Bill lead Madame Delacour around the dance floor followed in almost perfect form by Arthur and Fleur. When the song had ended the guests gave them a round of applause. The dance floor was then opened to all as the band began a waltz.

"Shall we," asked Harry, his hand outstretched to Hermione.

"I'm rather looking forward to this, Mr. Potter," said Hermione quietly, careful not be overhead by anyone other than Luna. Harry smiled and led her to the dance floor.

"I'll warn you now, I'm absolute rubbish at this," said Harry. Surprisingly he felt quite comfortable taking Hermione's right hand into his left while she rested her free hand on his shoulder and Harry took her waist with his right.

"I'll help you," said Hermione. "Just try to be mindful of my feet and listen to the music."

"You're good at everything you do, Hermione," said Harry, following her lead.

"Nearly," said Hermione with a smile. "I still have a few things to learn."

"Then I still have volumes to learn," said Harry, somewhat in jest but mostly speaking true.

"That's it," encouraged Hermione as she disregarded his last statement with a laugh. They swayed and stepped to the three-count pulse.

"You're better than I remember at the Yule Ball."

"And just how is it you know that," asked Harry surprised. After all, that was the point of tonight, to make amends for a dance that never happened.

"Oh, I watched you from time to time," said Hermione without hesitation.

"I didn't think you'd have time to watch me, with Victor being so close in proximity to you," said Harry. "I think more people were watching the two of you dance than anyone else."

"I never noticed," said Hermione honestly. "I kept stealing glances at you because I was worried about you. In hindsight, I should have just asked you to take me to the ball. Then I could have looked after you better."

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Hermione."

"You said it yourself," said Hermione. "You'd have been killed, or worse, expelled." The two broke into earnest smiles as they continued the dance without any further words passing between them. Hermione rested her head slightly on his shoulder as Harry's confidence grew and began to lead without Hermione's assistance.

Despite the surprised comfort Harry found with such closeness to Hermione, a small internal struggle was forming between some unknown origin in his chest and his brain. He shouldn't feel this comfortable but he did. In all his life, he'd never felt anything quite like Hermione's embrace. It was comforting, as her hugs had always been. That wasn't it. He was at ease. That made enough logical sense—she was his best friend. No, that wasn't it. What felt out of place, (and yet felt incredibly right) was the sense of belonging he felt. No one had ever made him feel like that. Ginny was always a rush of emotions, feelings he really didn't understand, feelings, he mentally told himself, had passed. No, Hermione's embrace, casual in nature but felt welcoming and inviting. Before Harry could begin to berate himself for such feelings, Hermione interrupted his thoughts.

"I never got to ask you if you read Dumbledore's tribute in the Prophet."

"Several times," said Harry. "I never knew he had a sister. He only mentioned his brother in passing I don't even recall the details. It just reminded me that I never really bothered to ask him about his own life. He fought a dark wizard, Hermione, and defeated him; someone who was just as like-minded as Voldemort. I could have asked him so many things."

"You're not being fair to yourself, Harry. Most of your time spent with him was always after some terrible near-death experience."

"Maybe," said Harry unconvinced. "But I'll never know now."

"Did you also see that Rita is writing a book about him?"

"Yes," said Harry with a bit of venom. "I don't believe a word of it. She's proven she'll write anything to sell a book." Hermione smiled. Once more they fell into silence and swayed to the last beats of the song.

"Come on, let's grab Ron and go talk to Molly and Arthur," said Hermione, breaking away from Harry's embrace but not without another full smile. She then leaned in as had become habit now and whispered, "thank you, Harry. That was the best dance I've had yet. Maybe you've got one more left before the night expires?" Harry gave her an agreeable nod and together they excused themselves from the dance floor in search of Ron. The search did not take long as they quickly found Ron at the drinks table where he, Fred, and George were deep in discussion about the future of the joke shop.

"Sorry to interrupt, boys, but Harry and I need to steal Ron away for a moment."

"Another adventure, then, is it," asked Fred, his expression turning from blissful mirth to somber in a flash. Harry had never been able to put a finger on it, but the twins had always been among the most perceptive people he'd ever met.

"Unfortunately, yes," said Harry. The twins nodded but not before taking a moment to shake his hand in turn. Then, they did something completely un-twin like. They both hugged Hermione in full Weasley embrace.

"Be careful, you three," said George. "And let us know if you need anything—we'll drop everything at the moment's notice."

"We know Hermione's the brains of this operation," continued Fred, "so make sure and keep her safe because you're lives will undoubtedly depend on it."

"Scarily accurate, but true," acknowledged Ron.

"Well, best we leave them to it, Fred," said George. "Remember to say _mischief managed_ when you mess up old Voldy-short's plans."

"We will," said Harry, breaking into earnest smile. Another trait he admired greatly in the twins; they could make any serious situation tolerable with a laugh.

They found Molly and Arthur at their own table, both appearing exhausted but quite content with the world.

"Hello, dears," said Molly. "Please, sit down." The three of them did as asked.

"Can I get you drinks," asked Arthur, his eyes lighting up slightly, giving Harry the impression he knew this would be serious conversation. They nodded in turn and Arthur gave a quick swish of his wand and three glasses of wine appeared before them.

"Am I right to presume this won't be a bit of friendly small talk?"

"Yes, Arthur, I'm afraid you're right," said Harry. "We're—that is Ron, Hermione, and I—we'll, we're planning to leave tomorrow, early before sun rise, to do what Dumbledore's left us to do. We didn't want to leave without letting you know."

Molly and Arthur shared a deeply worrying look, but Molly answered first.

"I don't like it," said Molly. "It doesn't seem fair that Dumbledore would give such a responsibility to you three—you're still children in my eyes." Tears began to form in her eyes but she kept them steadily at bay. "But Arthur helped me to understand that at least you, Harry, don't appear to have much choice and that if you did, you'd still be off anyway. Of course, wherever you go, these two will follow. I've been reminded that you're no longer children, but you'll always be my children who I want to protect. You three have faced so much and I hate knowing you're willingly going out there. Please be safe, take care of one another and let us know you're okay when you can."

"We'll do our best, Molly," said Hermione.

"Also, it would be best if no one else knows we're leaving until we're gone," said Harry.

"We won't say anything," said Arthur. "Molly said it best; look after one another and let us know when you can that you're safe. Just know that we and the Order are ready if you need anything."

"We will," said Harry truthfully. Inside he knew that inevitably, their mission would not always be theirs alone. Harry smiled to himself internally; just as Dumbledore had helped him to realize he had a choice in his destiny, Hermione had helped him see that while he may carry the weight of a final confrontation with Voldemort, they were all in the war together, as equals.

"Another dance, Barney," asked Hermione, visibly feeling the relief of telling the Weasley's their plan. Harry nodded and once more led Hermione to the dance floor for another waltz. Once more Harry found himself in the very natural and comforting embrace of Hermione. Looking over her shoulder he had a perfect view of the stone-craft broom closet where He and Dumbledore shared the first of several, more intimate moments. Harry smiled as he easily maneuvered Hermione into a position where she too could see the broom closet.

"That's where he said it," said Harry.

"Who said what?"

"Dumbledore," continued Harry. "The night we went to convince Slughorn to come out of retirement, the same night I told you and Ron about the prophecy. That's when he told me that I needed you—and Ron. He said I did you a disservice by not confiding in you. He knew, Hermione. He knew I couldn't do this alone." He could feel his eyes begin to burn. Normally Harry would be quick to wipe his eyes and battle as he'd done all his life the emotions that he'd been taught were associated with weakness. But in Hermione's presence he felt no such compulsion. He did not cry, but a few tears leaked past his eyes lids. Hermione quickly wiped the tear streaks on his cheeks.

"Dumbledore said you greatest strength was love," said Hermione after a moment, sensitive to Harry's need for release. "Don't ever doubt that we love you Harry. And when we're you're at the end of all things, don't ever doubt that I'll be there with you." An unfamiliar emotion swept over Harry as he rested his head on her shoulder this time. Once more he could feel the weight of the world slipping from his shoulders. His only fear being how much of the burden had now fallen on his best friend. Just as he was about to say something to that effect when a large silver mist descended from the top of the marquee and finding rest as it hovered a few feet from the dance floor not far from them. A few seconds slid by as the silvery mist formed into a proud lynx. The tent's guests quickly faded into the silence as the Patronus's mouth opened wide and spoke in the loud, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

_"The Minister of Magic is dead. The Ministry has fallen. They are coming…they are coming…_


	13. Escape to Grimmuald Place

Hello, Everyone. Good News! No (it's not the Dacia Sandero). No more trips for a while! Anyway, sorry for the delay. Time to get the story moving forward, so it's mostly an action chapter, but I think you'll enjoy the surprise at the end.

As usual, none of the work for this fiction is my own, but rather, it belongs to Rowling.

**Chapter Thirteen: Escape to Grimmuald Place**

The gathered guests lingered quietly as Kingsley's Patronus disappated. No one moved or said anything. Time had stalled to a crawl as everyone looked to one another as if seeking silent confirmation of Kingsley's words. The cold silence spread from the tent and lingered in the fields. And then they heard them.

Several screams came at once from every direction of the tent as the ministry wards fell in quick succession. Guests Disapparated away while Order members returned wand fire upon the dozen Death Eaters who'd arrived. In a matter of seconds the wedding tent became a battlefield.

Instinct took over as Harry grabbed Hermione by the shoulder and pushed her down onto the dance floor as streaks of red and green flashed over their heads.

"We've got to grab Ron and get out of here, Harry," said Hermione. They pushed their way across the dance floor as they fought against the tide of frantic guests sprinting away from the battle. Harry gripped Hermione firmly by the hand so they would not be separated, all the while calling out for Ron. They were joined shortly after by Remus and Tonks, both having put up a combined shield charm to deflect the rays of red shot in their direction.

"Harry, Hermione, you need to get out of here," said Remus, stunning one of the masked Death Eaters.

"I can help," said Harry as he shielded them from another stray stunner.

"No can do, kiddo," said Tonks. "Get to Ron—he was still with the twins near the refreshment bar—don't hang back. Hurry."

"We'll look after the guests, Harry. We will leave once everyone has gotten out safely. Now go!"

Hermione pulled on Harry and lead him toward the refreshment bar as they ducked behind overturned tables, using only shielding charms to not draw attention. After several minutes of slow progress, they found Ron with the twins returning stunners at an impressive rate.

"Oy, you lot, get over here," said George hitting a Death Eater in the face with a stunner.

"I'm not leaving while my family is in danger," said Ron defiantly.

"Sorry, Ronny-kins, no choice in the matter," said Fred as he shoved Ron down onto the dance floor. After a return volley of stunners, Fred and George dropped and joined the trio on the floor behind a turned table.

"Be ready to Disapparate," said George.

"We'll cover you—"

"Don't worry about the family—"

"We'll get you word when we're safe—on the count of three, alright?" Harry gave a quick glance to Hermione and Ron before nodding to the twins. Before Fred started to count however, the air turned to a familiar frosty cold.

"Dementors," whispered Harry, readying his wand again.

"We'll handle it," said the twins simultaneously.

"You get out of here, you understand," said George as he peeked a glance over the turned table. "Most of the Order can produce a Patronus. Looks like half a dozen or so, shouldn't be a problem." Harry attempted to protest but Fred shook his head.

"Harry, the whole point in hiding you was so that Death Eaters wouldn't know you were here. Voldy-shorts might suspect it, but he doesn't know it for certain. Everyone knows your Patronus form—you'll only give yourself away and put our family in danger for harboring you. Not that we care about that mind you, but it would make our life a bit more difficult."

"He's right, Harry, we can't let your attendance be known," said Hermione. Harry reluctantly agreed.

"Alright, count of three," said Fred. "Ready—one—two—three!" In one fluid movement, Fred and George stood and fired several stunners toward a small cluster of Death Eaters making their way into the tent area. The trio stood with Hermione in the middle who had a firm grip on both boys and turned on the spot. All sight and sound was oppressed by darkness pressing upon them that Harry recognized as the familiar sensation of Apparation.

"Where are we," asked Ron. Harry opened his eyes. They were standing in an ally way with brick buildings on either side of them. A few meters away was a busy street crowded with cars and pedestrians passing by, their shadows dancing in a hurried pace beneath the store-front lights.

"Tottenham Court Road," said Hermione in a quiet but rushed voice. "Walk," she said as she lead them from the ally out into the busy sidewalk. "We need to find somewhere for you to change. Harry's Polyjuice won't last much longer."

"Hermione, just what are we supposed to change into," asked Ron with a hint of impatience in his voice. Harry was equally frustrated, but not at Hermione or what she said, but rather for his lack of preparedness. How could he be so thick as to not anticipate a possible attack on the Burrow?

"Of all the times to not have my Invisibility Cloak," said Harry cursing his shortsightedness and stupidity.

"I have your cloak, Harry, remember," she said, waving her little handbag. Harry smiled.

"Of course," said Harry. "Brilliant as usual, Hermione."

"Will someone please explain to me what you two are on about," asked Ron.

"Sorry," said Hermione. "It's an Undetectable Extension Charm—look," she reached into her bag until the length of her arm had vanished inside. Ron's mouth hung open slightly. Hermione then withdrew the silvery cloak.

"Get under your cloak, Harry," said Hermione. "You're bound to change back any moment." Harry did as he was told and slipped beneath the cloak.

"That's bloody brilliant," said Ron, his mouth still hung open in disbelief.

"Yes, well, we can talk about my brilliance later," said Hermione as she continued to blaze a path through the oncoming pedestrians. "For now, we need to find a place to wait out the last of Harry's potion." She led them on for several blocks more before coming to an abrupt halt at a rather neglected café. Harry followed Ron and Hermione as they took one of the many available booths. Harry slid in next to the wall with Hermione seating herself next to him. Ron took the opposite side, his back facing the door entry.

A minute passed while they waited in silence for the barista. During that time, Harry could feel the waning effects of the Polyjuice Potion. First his vision began to grow blurry, followed by the odd sensation of his hands constricting back into their original size. He then felt his nose snap into place and shoulders narrow slightly. Finally, the potion's effects had run their course as his vision worsened significantly. Harry quickly reached into a pocket of his now baggy pants and withdrew his glasses. His vision restored, he quickly took in the surroundings.

"It's finished," he whispered next to Hermione. Hermione gave a discreet nod as the barista came to their table.

"Whatcha be havin' this evenin', dears," she asked. Hermione ordered a pair of cappuccinos. Once the barista had returned to the kitchen, Ron spoke.

"You know, the Leaky Cauldron isn't far from here."

"Ron, we can't go there—it would be suicide," said Hermione quickly, but keeping her voice down.

"Not to stay, I know that," said Ron. "But we need to find out what's happening."

"We know what's happening! Voldemort's taken over the Ministry. Do you really need to know anything else?"

"Aright, alright, fine," said Ron holding up his hands in defeat. "It was just an idea."

"I know," said Hermione, relaxing into silence once more. A minute passed before the door of the café opened once more and two disgruntled looking workmen entered. They seated themselves into the next booth. Harry eyed them curiously for a moment as Hermione dropped into another whisper.

"I say we need to find a quiet place to Disapparate—head for the countryside—set camp and send a message to the order."

"Can you make that talking Patronus, then," asked Ron. Hermione flashed a quick look of frustration before nodding.

"We could just go to Sirius's place for now," whispered Harry. Ron gave a bewildered look.

"Sirius had a place?"

"Harry, he doesn't know yet," said Hermione. "Fidelius Charm, remember?" Harry sighed. They hadn't had the opportunity for him to tell Ron about the location of Grimmuald Place. Another minute passed silently as the barista emerged from the kitchen with their order.

"Here you be, dears," she said setting down the drinks before rushing over the two gentlemen to take their order. Harry was passively observing the pair when the larger of the two men—the blond one—waved her away rudely. And that's when he saw it. The man's left hand under the table was holding a wand.

"Let's get going, then, I don't want to drink this much," said Ron, his face sporting a rather bitter look as though he'd just consumed his own dose of Polyjuice Potion. "Hermione, have you got Muggle money to pay for this, because I sure don't." Hermione was about to reach into her bag when Harry gripped her forearm rather hard and whispered.

"Get ready—they have wands—on my move." Hermione nodded and shot Ron a look and gestured with her eyes in the direction of the work men. Ron quickly saw the concealed wand without being obvious and nodded. Harry gave Hermione another squeeze and jumped to his seat, the cloak slipping off as he fired his first spell.

"_Stupefy!_"

The jet of red hit the blond Death Eater in the face, sending him backwards into the other Death Eater who lost his balance and slipped beneath the table. Ron followed suit with a stunner of his own while Hermione waved her wand, uprooting several tables from their floor anchors and placing them between the Death Eaters and themselves for cover. The still conscious Death Eater deflected Ron's stunner and Disapparated, reappearing seconds later behind them. The Death Eater then conjured black ropes from the tip of his wand, quickly binding Ron from head to foot. Before Harry or Hermione could react, the Death Eater then fired another spell towards them, this one having no visible light. Harry grabbed Hermione and forced her to the ground as the tables behind them exploded.

The barista, hearing the commotion, barreled out the kitchen doors, shrieking in response to the destroyed interior of the café. Without hesitation, Hermione flicked her wand the barista was sent flying back through the kitchen doors and out of harm's way.

"Stupefy," shouted Harry as he made to stand, but again the stunner was deflected by the Death Eater's shield charm. Hermione, however, was a master of non-verbal spells and with a swish of her wand, the Death Eater's arms bound to his sides just as his legs fused together and he toppled forward, face first into the tile flooring. Hermione then gave her wand another flick and Ron's ropes split apart. Harry helped him up and then stepped over the debris where the blond Death Eater was sprawled.

"I should have recognized him the moment he came in," said Harry. "He was up in the tower the night Dumbledore died—name's Rowle. Hermione stunned the dark haired Death Eater before turning him face up toward to the ceiling.

"Dolohov," said Hermione, her face turning to stone. "He's the one who got me at the Ministry—but never mind who they are—how did they find us?"

"Dunno," said Ron.

"Ron, get the lights," said Harry. Amidst the panic, his mind jumped into overdrive. "Hermione, lock the doors—quickly." Ron withdrew his Deluminator and gave it a click, plunging the café into darkness. A second click told him the door was locked and then there was another swishing sound of the blinds dropping.

"_Lumos_," whispered Harry, giving a small radius of light around them and the unconscious Death Eaters.

"What do we do with them," asked Ron. "They'd kill us given the chance." Hermione shuddered at Ron's insinuation, taking a few steps back and putting distance between her and Ron. Harry shook his head.

"We wipe their memories," said Harry. "If we killed them it'd be obvious we were here. We can't start off on the run—we have to dictate the terms or we won't make it."

"You're the boss," said Ron. "But have either of you ever done a Memory Charm?" Harry shook his head again.

"No," said Hermione simply.

"What about your parents," asked Harry.

"It's different," she explained. "This is wiping it from their memory, like it was never there. I put several Confundus Charms on them to modify their memories. Their memories are still there, Harry, just buried deeply under a lot of false ones. The Obliviation Memory Charm isn't temporary, Harry. It's permanent. That's why you have to have Ministry Certification in order to do it in the first place. The charm isn't even in the Hogwarts Curriculum."

"Do you know it," asked Harry, regretting what he was about to ask Hermione to do. It wasn't who the charm was going to be performed on that bothered him. No, he knew how personal it would be for Hermione, having already modified her parent's memory in such a similar way.

"I do," she said. "I think I can do it. It's not really a complex spell to be honest." She drew her wand upon Dolohov and pointed it at his forehead. Once more, Harry marveled at her mastery of non-verbal spells as Dolohov's eyes became unfocused.

"I think it worked," she said, moving from Dolohov to Rowle and repeating the spell.

"Brilliant," said Harry, giving her a small pat on the shoulder. "Ron and I will fix the place up while you check on the waitress. You'll probably have to wipe her memory too, unfortunately." Hermione nodded and disappeared into the kitchen as Ron and Harry repaired the damage. It took them a couple minutes.

"You know, Dumbledore could've fixed this place up with one flick," said Harry as Hermione came back from the kitchen.

"Yeah, but he was a hundred and fifty or so years old, mate," said Ron.

"We still don't know how they found us," said Hermione, interrupting with the change of subject.

"You don't reckon Harry still has the trace, do you," asked Ron.

"It's wizarding law that it breaks at seventeen," said Hermione.

"Besides, the Minister himself took the trace off before my birthday," said Harry. Ron gazed at Harry with a lopsided look.

"Why'd he do that?"

"Kingsley said it was for my best interest," said Harry.

"But what if the Death Eaters found a way to put it back on," said Hermione franticly.

"Look, we need to get out of here, we can figure this out later," said Harry. "Ron, come here, I need to tell you something." A bit bewildered, Ron complied with the request. Harry leaned in and told him the location of the Grimmauld Place.

"Wicked," said Ron, his face glowing in understanding. "It all makes sense now. I knew I'd once know the location of the Order, but then I completely forgot. I suspect the new Fidelius made me forget."

"Alright, let's get out of here," said Harry, nodding to Hermione. Once more, she took her place between them.

"Put your cloak on Harry," she said.

"What about you two?"

"You're more important."

"Fine," said Harry, knowing how this argument would end. "But can't you at least put a Disillusionment charm on the two of you?"

"Yes, I suppose I can do that," said Hermione. She tapped her wand on Ron's head who immediately camouflaged into the surroundings of the Café interior. Satisfied, Hermione did the same to herself. She then took each boy's hand and twisted on the spot.

And then they stood at the foot of the stone stairs of the long-neglected Grimmauld Place. Once they had made sure they were not followed a second time, they raced to the top of the stairs. Harry tapped his wand on the door which was followed by several slicks and a chain clanging against the aging wood. The door swung open with a horrendous creak as they hurried inside.

"You sure this is safe, mate," asked Ron in a whisper, wary of the portrait of Mrs. Black.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Best to be sure, though," said Hermione. She flicked her wand once, speaking the incantation this time.

"_Homenum Revelio_." After a few strained moments with no apparent thing happening, Ron interjected.

"Well, never thought I'd see a spell Hermione didn't do right the first time," he said in a shocked voice. "Just what was that supposed to do?"

"For your information, Ronald, it worked perfectly," said Hermione in a matter-of-fact tone. "That spell is used to reveal human presence, and we are quite alone."

"You scare me sometimes," said Ron as he made his way toward the kitchen. "Any food in this place, Harry?"

"Yeah, in the pantry," said Harry as he shared an amused look with Hermione. They followed Ron in to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Just as Ron emerged from the pantry, his arms burdened with a large pile of food, a silver Patronus hovered into the kitchen from the hallway they'd just left. Solidifying, the silver weasel climbed to the top of the table and stood in front of them, speaking in the voice of Arthur Weasley.

"_Family safe, do not reply; we are being watched._" Its message relayed, the Patronus dissipated.

"They're safe," said Ron, his voice sounding detached.

"One less thing to be occupied with now," said Hermione. Her face too showed visible relief. Harry nodded in agreement.

"We can rule out the trace," said Harry, after a minute. "Otherwise they would be at our doorstep."

"Maybe," said Hermione. "It's possible they followed our Apparition, but I'm not sure how. I'm not aware of being able to follow another wizard or witches Apparition destination unless you're in physical contact with them."

"Well, maybe they've figured something out," said Ron. "I mean, doesn't You-Know-Who have the ability to Apparate to his followers?"

"Yes, but that's the Dark Mark he's using as a reference, Ron," said Harry. "I think it's time for me to read this letter from Dumbledore—I'll just be in the living room."

"I should come with you," said Hermione immediately, but Harry shook his head.

"I'll tell you about it after I've read it, okay?" Hermione looked as though she wanted to protest, but nodded after a few seconds. Without another word, he excused himself from the table, leaving Ron and Hermione in the kitchen.

Once he made sure he would not be disturbed, Harry took the envelope from inside his robe pocket. Hands shaking slightly, he pulled back the wax seal effortlessly and unfolded the parchment within.

_Harry, _

_I hope this letter finds you well and in the company of your dearest friends. I do hope you will forgive the brevity of this letter as it does not contain the information you are undoubtedly expecting. The deception was necessary to ensure that this information was passed to you and you alone. Additionally, the theatrics would only help to give Scrimgeour pause in any forceful action he may try to take to get you into his fold. Assuming you are reading this letter now, I must be assured that the deception worked as intended. _

_I have three vials of memory prepared for you, and likewise Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. They will appear once you have read the contents of this letter. Each is labeled appropriately. My only directions as of now are as follows: _

_Firstly, these vials are enchanted to glow in a blue light when they are to be viewed. As such, the vials cannot be opened until such a time. I will not divulge why in this letter, but everything will be made clear in due time._

_Secondly, these memories are only to be viewed by the one who the vial names. Therefore, when a vial indicates it is time to be viewed, either you, Miss Granger, or Mr. Weasley must do so alone. The memories are enchanted to prevent anyone from entering the memory unless it is the person for whom it is intended._

_Lastly, as I indicated in my will, I owe you more than simple platitudes. The first memory is for you and will glow once the vials have been presented. I want you to view it as soon as you can. _

_Albus Perciful Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. _

Finishing the letter, Harry returned his attention to the empty envelope, his confusion growing by the minute. He picked up the envelope to find surprisingly that is was no longer empty. Inside three glass vials appeared. He looked at each one in turn, finding that the three of them had been addressed to one vial each. Hands still shaking, he leapt from the couch and raced into the kitchen.

"Here it is," he said, his voice louder than he intended.

"What is it, Harry," asked Hermione. Harry didn't' respond immediately, but rather, thrusted a vial into Hermione and Ron's hand each.

"From Dumbledore," said Harry. "They're memories, one for each of us."

"Brilliant," said Ron. "Er, how are we supposed to watch them?"

"With this," said Hermione, reaching into her extendable bag and withdrawing the Pensieve.

"Where did you get one of those," asked Ron. "Those are rare, they are."

"Dumbledore," said Hermione. "Well, Fawkes delivered it, but it's from Dumbledore."

"Blimey," said Ron with wonder. "So what are we waiting for?"

"Just a second, Ron," said Harry. "Dumbledore's instructions state that the memory will glow blue when it is time for you to watch your memory."

"You mean, these aren't for all of us to see," asked Hermione. Harry shook his head.

"No, Dumbledore made it perfectly clear that only the one whose name is on the vial is to watch it. Also, you won't be able to open the vial until it glows blue."

"Harry," shrieked Hermione suddenly, pointing at the vial in Harry's hand. "Your vial—it's glowing!"

"Right, well, I reckon I should take this into the other room," said Harry, picking up the Pensieve from the kitchen table. "Wish me luck."


	14. The Power He Knows Not

Hello all. Long chapter here; its been in the works for a while and I really hope you enjoy it. Thanks for everyone who takes their time to read and review. Cheers!

As usual, none of this is mine, but JK's.

**Chapter 14: The Power He Knows Not**

Harry descended into the Pensieve and found himself standing in Professor Dumbledore's office. The same silver instruments sat on the desk making their odd movements and small billows of clear smoke while Fawkes' stand remained in the corner nearest the sun-lit window beside the headmaster's desk. And yet, Harry could feel something very different about this memory—different than any memory he'd ever entered. It felt alarmingly real.

"Hello, Harry," said a voice behind Harry that had haunted his latest nightmares. Harry did not want to turn around and believe his ears. Every electric pulse in his brain screamed to him that it was only a memory and the man behind him was gone and buried in the earth.

"Harry, please turn around."

Harry did so. How could he not? The words carried the tone of his calm, gentle, soft-spoken voice layered in his characteristic eccentric mirth that Harry knew too well. Albus Dumbledore stood at the doorway of his office, his twinkling blue eyes dancing in the sunlight as he gazed at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. For a moment Dumbledore simply considered Harry with his benign smile, but was soon replaced with shadow around his eyes and a grave frown as his blackened hand ushered them to the desk.

"Please, take a seat, Harry." Bewildered, Harry walked to the familiar chair he'd sat in many times over the past several years. He reached out tentatively, surprised to find the chair felt quite solid. Yes, something was different about this memory than the others. There was a lack of dream-like substance to the memory in which Harry had become accustomed too. Dumbledore—or at least, the memory Dumbledore, as Harry reminded himself—took his seat and waited for Harry to do the same. Only when Harry had finally sat down did Dumbledore speak again.

"I'm sure by now you have realized this is not a normal memory," stated Dumbledore knowingly. Harry couldn't help but feel that Dumbledore was somehow looking at him, reading him as if Dumbledore were still alive. He quickly tossed aside the stray thought. Dumbledore continued to sit in silence as he watched Harry. Finally, the silence between them had grown so uncomfortable that Harry couldn't resist.

"You're not real," said Harry.

"If by real, you mean no longer alive and breathing the pure mountain air or the pleasant aroma of Hogwart's gardens, then, no, I am not real, Harry," said Dumbledore, a brief smile rising to his lips. Again, Dumbledore had fallen into silence. Harry was taken aback by the memory's apparent ability to respond to his words.

"You said this wasn't a normal memory," said Harry, suddenly. "Does that mean you can understand what I'm saying, and you know, talk and er, answer questions?"

"Admirably simplified, Harry," said Dumbledore, chuckling. "No, this is not a normal memory—truthfully; it can hardly be considered memory at all when you recognize this exchange between you and me has not occurred until now. It is more closely related to the enchantments found in the portraits of Hogwarts, but is, in my humble opinion, a magic far more advanced than that. In fact, between you and I, compared to hiding Nicholas' stone in the Mirror of Erised, this bit of magic is far more ingenious. Though, in practice, it was much more complicated. I doubt however, that you are much interested in the details of that particular accomplishment. I dare say it shall be a longer discussion with Miss Granger when she visits next." Harry's eyes widened at the revelation. This Dumbledore, whatever it is he was—memory, enchantment, or something else—was clearly beyond anything Harry had ever experienced before.

"In regards to your question, yes, I can respond to your questions," continued Dumbledore. "All my knowledge, my experience, and even some of my more base emotions are present here. In this regard, I am very much like the portraits of Hogwarts. Some minutia of everyday life is certainly absent from me, as are the finer emotions I might otherwise have displayed had this conversation occurred prior to my death." Harry winced and looked away abruptly at Dumbledore's casual reference to his death. Dumbledore then reached his uncharred hand across the desk and gently gripped Harry's wrist forcing him to look the headmaster directly in his eyes. The headmaster's gaze was hauntingly real.

"It was not your fault, Harry," said Dumbledore. Harry held the gaze for a moment before he pulled away and diverted his eyes once more. When he spoke, he did so directly to the floor, his attention focused on a particular knot in the wood.

"You don't know that," said Harry. "You can't know that."

"What don't I know, Harry?"

"Because I know this was made before you died." Harry said it more callously then he intended, but he wasn't having Dumbledore—no, the memory of Dumbledore—convince him like he'd done with Sirius. Harry's words brought yet another round of silence to the office. After several minutes, Dumbledore broke the silence.

"Your capacity for love continually astounds me, Harry."

"Not this again, Professor, please."

"Your love is your greatest asset, Harry, your source of strength."

"Then why am I so weak," he asked, his voice dripping with desperate pleading to understand. "If I'm so bloody powerful, why couldn't I save Sirius, or stop Voldemort in that graveyard, or save Cedric, or—" but Harry stopped, refusing the utter the words that caused him more pain then the death of Sirius, or Cedric, or anyone else.

"Or save me," said Dumbledore softly. Harry quickly brushed aside the tears in his eyes. He hated the truth of those words. He hated more than anything his inability to save the person who had always protected his, whether it was behind the curtains or out in the open. It was this solitary fact that made the pain of losing Dumbledore so much worse than Sirius, or Cedric.

"I knew what lay in wait for us in that cave, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Though I still do not know the details, I was aware that blood was to be given to gain entry, and that an army of Inferi was likely awaiting us. From the look in your eyes, however, I can tell there was at least one obstacle I did not anticipate, yes?"

"You could say that," said Harry, who still refused to look at the headmaster. He had now turned his gaze to the office window, wishing beyond reason he was flying outside. He shook his head, knowing those days were long gone.

"Tell me," said Dumbledore.

"What do you want to hear," asked Harry, turning angry. "That you made me swear to leave you behind if I had to? That I had to sacrifice you should that be the only option? That you made me promise to make you drink a potion that caused you terrible pain and misery? That I had to plead and lie to you so you'd take each sip while you begged for death? Or how about being forced to watch you being murdered by Snape after you'd made me hide under my cloak and immobilized me, so I couldn't do anything about it? Is that what you want to hear? Or maybe you'd like to hear this; that it was all for nothing—that someone already retrieved it—that it was a fake." Harry stood up and stormed away from the headmaster, his back against him. Even though Harry knew the man before him was not Dumbledore, he couldn't help but be angry.

"Harry, I know none of this has been easy for you—none of your life has been easy for you," said Dumbledore, the pace of his words slow and deliberate, clearly weighing each with heavy consideration. "But I want you to understand this; it was not for nothing."

"Then what was it for?"

"You," said Dumbledore. Harry rounded on him, ready to explode, only to find a broken Dumbledore before him. As suddenly as the anger had come it had dissolved as Dumbledore buried his face in his hands and was now openly weeping. Several minutes passed before Dumbledore regained any composure. Harry had reclaimed his seat.

"I'm sorry, Professor, I didn't mean to—" but he fell silent. He felt awkward to be apologizing to a memory, or whatever it was the Dumbledore in front of him was.

"It is alright," said Dumbledore, blowing his nose on a handkerchief he pulled from his robe pocket. "I need you to understand something, Harry. I was prepared, on several occasions, to give my life in exchange for yours. You are valuable, Harry, far more than I ever was—far more valuable than Sirius, and even your parents."

"You said the same thing in the cave," said Harry feeling anger building once more. "All because of that stupid prophecy—"

"Because I love you," said Dumbledore. Harry once more felt the anger slip through the coils of his stomach. "You are more valuable because Sirius loved you, and you are more valuable because your parents loved you—not because of a prophecy—because you are my student, because you are his godson, and because you are their son. Think, imagine, just for a moment, if it had been you and Miss Granger in the cave, or perhaps Mr. Weasley. Would you not willingly give your life to protect them?"

"Of course I would," said Harry.

"Why then cannot I do the same for you?"

"I—"

"Because you think yourself unworthy to love," said Dumbledore simply. "It torments your soul and your most private thoughts because all you have ever known, all you have ever experienced is that those who love you have given their lives in exchange for yours. You believe yourself guilty that you survived and we did not. Worse yet, is that you believe you are worthy of the resentment and mistreatment your relatives have spent a lifetime heaping upon you. Nothing could be further from the truth. You still do not see the extraordinary person in yourself that I had the privilege of seeing nearly every day as your burdens followed you through the castle. That fact that you can even feel loss as strongly as you do, despite the way you have been raised, despite the incalculable weight of the burdens you have been forced to bear, despite every degrading remark and ridicule you have bared is a miracle if ever I have seen one."

Harry was stunned into silence. He had never really contemplated why he felt angry for every death that occurred in response to his protection. Not for his parents, for Sirius, for Moody, and for Dumbledore. But he knew what Dumbledore said was true; he hated that he had lived and they had died. As those feelings of guilt erupted in the pit of his stomach, he found he could not look Dumbledore in the eyes, so he turned away to stare once more into the sunlit windows, only to find the very light of the sun an unwanted visitor to the darkness of his guilt.

"You feel it now," said Dumbledore knowingly. "And so, you ask, if love is so present within you, and is the power referred to in the prophecy, why then are you incapable of protecting them, yes?" Harry responded with a curt nod. Silence filled the office yet again.

"You remember, of course, our time this past year working to uncover Voldemort's secret; his path to achieve immortality. I had told you I began to suspect the use of Horcruxes when you brought me the destroyed diary from the Chamber of Secrets. That I had discovered the ring buried within the ruins of the Guant homestead provided absolute proof that he had done so. But how many? I had no way of knowing. Then you accomplished what I had been unable to do; you uncovered the truth. You found a weakness in Horace that I could not breach. Six Horcruxes, seven pieces of soul—you know all of this, of course. But it is always important to retrace our steps sometimes." A brief pause arose and Harry fully expected to see one of the Headmasters clever grins, but his aged face only reflected a darker shadow. Harry could not help but feel an oppressive weight bearing down on him. Something terrible was coming.

"It was after discovering the ring that I began to suspect a more sinister development," continued Dumbledore. "A development I believe that even Riddle is unaware of yet is completely of his design. Harry, do you remember why Quirrell could not bear to touch you with the intent to harm?"

Harry nodded.

"You said it was because of my mother; you said it was her love and her sacrifice."

"And yet, you probably wondered why you were unprotected from those who similarly tried to do you harm?"

"Sometimes," admitted Harry. "Why didn't it protect me from—"

"—Your relatives," said Dumbledore with a crack in his voice. Harry nodded, remembering the several occasions with Dudley and his gang, the flying frying pan, or sometimes the shoving and violent man-handling.

"At the time, I gave you the answer I believed to be accurate, or at least, as accurate as an educated guess could possibly be. Quirrell did after all have the intent to harm you, to kill you even, to please his master. He had suffered his fatal wounds from contact with your skin. There was at the time, little else that could explain such a phenomenon. I had yet to suspect Horcruxes or that there was anything other than residual dark magic connecting you to Riddle through your scar. Everything regarding the relationship between you and Riddle is one-of-a-kind, Harry. Nowhere in magical lore or history has there ever been two wizards tied together so intricately in magic as you and Tom Riddle."

"However, as your time at Hogwarts progressed, I started to rethink my hypothesis. I began to realize that there was certain specificity in regards to the protection your mother had granted you in her death. You suffered physical harm from your relatives, and passively from the house elf, Dobby, as well as creatures such as the Dementors. No, by your third year I had come to the conclusion that your protection was effective only towards Riddle. I was proven right the night you came back from the graveyard. He was able to breach that protection. Now you and Riddle where once more intertwined in ways no other two wizards have ever been—connected by your scar and the curse that failed, connected in blood, connected by similar pasts, connected by wand—no two wizards have ever been like you and Riddle."

"So if my protection was only good against Voldemort, and you knew that definitively by the end of my fourth year, why did I have to keep going back? Especially since he found a way past it? And if it was only against Voldemort, why was Quirrell affected in the first place?

"While Tom may have found his way around the physical protection, he was still unable to breach the wards I erected," said Dumbledore. "I built those wards on the blood of your mother, blood that runs through you and your aunt, Harry. As long as you dwelled inside that residence, you were protected from Tom. As to why Quirrell could not touch you, I believe that was the result of willingly sharing his body with Tom's splintered fragment of soul. In effect, he acted as a conduit for the protection of your mother to reach Tom. And so I offer this as exhibit A; your mother's protection was the manifestation of the power of love."

"I guess that makes as much sense as anything else would," said Harry. "But what about my relatives?"

"What I failed to notice was that your mother's protection did not shield you from within the very home I intended as your sanctuary," said Dumbledore sadly. "As I once told you, being as _gifted_ as I am, my mistakes are correspondingly larger as well. And no failure of mine has ever been as great as the one I inflicted upon you by placing you in your relatives care. Never could I imagine an aunt or uncle who could treat their own flesh in blood in the manner they did you. You may have been safe from Tom and his Death Eaters physically, but I failed to protect you from the most terrible danger a child can ever face; neglect, an environment absent of love, and though I don't know if you ever suffered physical abuse, I suspected that at least in your early childhood you might have. For this, I, and I alone, am wholly responsible."

"I forgive you," said Harry almost immediately, surprised he wasn't as angry as he'd thought he might be. "To be fair, I never said anything. I didn't trust you to do anything. I should have given you that chance." Dumbledore wiped away a solitary tear from beneath his spectacles and nodded his silent appreciation.

"So, returning then, to your original question," said Dumbledore, clearly determined to bring the conversation to full circle. "Magic, at its very basic essence, Harry, is simply the manifestation of our will. We could in essence, utter incantations until we were blue in the face, and our magic would remain unstirred if it was not our will to see the magic done. Intent always matters."

"You remember clearly, I am sure, of your failed attempt to curse Bellatrix with the Cruciatus Curse?" Harry nodded.

"Yeah—she said I had to mean it," said Harry remembering the conversation as though it were hours ago.

"Despite her—addiction to suffering—she is correct. You see, you could not cast that curse because even in the midst of your anger and grief, you did not have the desire to see her tortured. Again, your immense capacity to love protected you."

"I don't love her," said Harry with immediate protest. He wasn't about to have Dumbledore insinuate that he loved everyone.

"No," admitted Dumbledore, shaking his head. "But you are also a kind-hearted person despite the hostile environment you were raised in. You know as well as I do, that deep in your heart, you would never subject anyone to the kind of pain the Cruciatus is capable of inflicting. You might wish it, you might even envision it, but if you are honest with yourself, you know you could never really do it to another human being, no matter how terrible they are. Tell me, Harry, which of the Unforgivables do you think is the most difficult to cast properly?"

"I don't know," answered Harry truthfully. "When Crouch was teaching us about them in fourth year, he said all of us could cast the killing curse on him but it wouldn't really work."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore with brief twinkling eye. "Can you think of a reason why?"

"Is it like the Cruciatus," asked Harry thinking hard. "You have to really want that person dead?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Startlingly easy, isn't it? As you might have guessed by now, the Killing Curse is the easiest of the Unforgivables to perform. While it is true that a certain amount of power is required to cast the Unforgivables, Crouch would have believed your limitation at the time of your fourth year would have been two-fold. Firstly, your lack of desire to kill your then professor and secondly, a fourth year typically does not have sufficient control of their magic to perform the spell in the first place. In fact, I believe at the time that only yourself and Miss Granger would have the control necessary to perform the killing curse had you the intent to do so."

"Sir, what does this have to do with my ability to love, other than not letting me use Unforgivables?"

"Yes, of course, forgive me," said Dumbledore. "Let us try a more direct line of thinking. What are the requirements to cast a Patronus?"

"A happy memory," said Harry. "A strong one."

"Correct in theory," said Dumbledore nodding. "And when initially teaching such a spell, it is necessary to simplify. But in truth, a memory is not really the requirement for a Patronus to function."

"What do you mean?"

"Why must you focus on a happy memory, Harry? Because it evokes emotion—powerful emotions—such as elation, fulfillment, and most profoundly, love."

"I think, I understand," said Harry slowly, though his mind was racing. He still had yet to connect all the pieces, but they were falling into place. The Cruciatus required the intent to torture as well as the desire to see the victim suffer, just as the killing curse required the intention and desire for the victim to be dead, which Harry assumed must be hate, while a spell like the Patronus required an intent to protect or defend while also having the very opposite desire as the Dementor.

"Sir, are you saying that emotion has an impact on the power of a spell?"

"Very good, Harry," said Dumbledore with a true smile. "All young witches or wizards express emotion fueled magic at early stages in life through what is commonly referred to as accidental magic. Then, upon reaching the age of eleven, you are brought to school to learn to control magic, and in the process, emotion gradually becomes less and less a part of the magic we perform. With this in mind, you can perhaps see that while standard spells are performed easily enough by any witch or wizard, spell casting that is dependent on emotion and intention working in tandem is far more difficult, like the Unforgivables and the Patronus charm you are so familiar with."

"If that's the case, why didn't we learn this at Hogwarts?"

"We do," said Dumbledore, "in your seventh year study, predominately through Charms. Not every spell is dependent on emotion, but any spell can be augmented, or amplified by emotion that aligns with the intent of the spell. And that is essential; if magic is to be augmented by emotion, the emotion must be in agreement with the intention of the caster and the purpose of the spell. A perfect example would be when you drove away all those Dementors your third year."

"But I am drawing us away from the matter at hand," continued Dumbledore. "So now we come full circle to your question; is love the power he knows not, and does it make you truly strong? The answer simply, is yes. Let me illustrate; you know that Riddle murdered his father by his sixth year at Hogwarts. He was as you know, a very gifted student, much like Miss. Granger, but his focus was very specific, where as your friend's focus is like that of a broad brush. If you remember rightly, you will also recall that Riddle had extraordinary control over his powers even before he acquired a wand. Tom applies his hate and contempt so naturally to his spell work I would be willing to wager he is unaware they have any effect on his spell work."

"That's why he's so powerful," said Harry suddenly. "I mean, sure, he was brilliant, and knows a lot of spells, but it's the intensity, isn't it, that makes his spell work different."

"Precisely, Harry," said Dumbledore. "I believe this also answers further why you were not protected from your relatives. You're mother's intention was to protect you from Tom as he was the threat at the time of her sacrifice." Satisfied, Harry nodded for Dumbledore to continue.

"Now, which do you suppose is a stronger emotion; love, or hate?" Harry fell silent at that question. He knew what Dumbledore would say—that love was stronger. But everything he had ever experienced told him hate must be stronger.

"I truthfully don't know, Professor," said Harry quietly. "I'm still not really sure what love actually is, so how would I know which is stronger. If I had to go on experience, I'd say hate was the stronger emotion."

"And I could not fault you for thinking it," acknowledged Dumbledore. "On the surface, they appear quite equal. Hate appears to be stronger for the ease in which it can be applied. It is easier to hate than it is to love. Consequently, hate, (and those emotions that stem from it) augments spells that have the connotation to be more destructive, thus furthering the perception that hate is stronger than love. Hate at its most primal form is the result of selfishness. Love, on the other hand, at its most primal form is selfless. It is compassionate. It is sacrificial. It is putting others before ourselves, even to the point where we disregard our own existence. Take for example, the killing curse. It is unblockable; there is no counter curse, or shield charm that will repel it. It destroys objects with which it comes into contact. And yet here you are—the living breathing proof that love conquers all—even hate. Your mother sacrificed herself out of her love for you and her desire and intention to protect you, even at the cost of her own life. And if you look within yourself you'll find the same power and drive to lay your life down for your friends."

"So how do I use it, then," asked Harry. "How do I use love against him?"

"By the same way you perform a Patronus," answered Dumbledore. "Just as when you allowed yourself to be filled with your love for Sirius and your friends and drove Tom from your body the night he attempted to possess you. You concentrate on your love for those you are fighting to protect. The more personable and intimate, the easier it is to focus that emotion, just as it is for the Patronus charm."

"Professor," said Harry after several minutes of silence had filled the office. "I think I understand now, what it meant, about me having power he knows not—he never had love at all—no friends, family, or anything else. The prophecy doesn't say my power will be greater than his, just that I would have a power he knows not. And I can even see why you think love is stronger. But there's something else you haven't told me, isn't there, professor? I don't think you'd go through this trouble just to help me understand emotion's impact on spell casting—you could have done that in a letter."

"You are quite right. As I have indicated, I owe you more than simple platitudes, Harry, and now it is time to tell you what I did not have time to tell you before," said Dumbledore with deep sadness imbedded in his voice. The uncharacteristic tone forced Harry to lock his gaze with the headmaster, only to find him staring determinedly at his lemon drop bowl. "I can give you several reasons why I did not do so before now, but in the end, they are still only excuses."

"Just now, you and I have retraced how I came to the knowledge of Voldemort's Horcruxes, and hopefully have helped you understand the power you have that he does not. As I also indicated earlier that once I had discovered the ring I began to ponder something far more sinister than Horcruxes." At this Dumbledore forced himself with great effort to look Harry in the eyes, the sparkling twinkle long extinguished. "Harry, I am about to place yet another burden upon your shoulders, a burden far heavier than the prophecy."


	15. The Last Burden

**Hello all. Sorry for the long delay once again. This was a hard chapter to write. Writing your favorite character is challenging. Convincingly capturing their voice, their mannerisms, and finally their perfections and flaws is no easy task. This was also a hard chapter to balance information and yet keep the emotional highs and lows without going overboard and Ooc. Anyway, hope you all enjoy it. As always, this isn't mine, but rather, JK's. **

Chapter 15: The Last Burden

Dumbledore rose from his chair slowly, his age more present than ever as he used the strength of his arms and hands to bring himself to full height, wincing as some of his body weight fell upon his blackened hand. He gingerly stepped out from behind his desk and walked over to the sunlit window and starred in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. He stood that way for several more minutes, silently gathering his thoughts.

"Professor," prompted Harry after waiting for Dumbledore to elaborate. The professor turned slowly on his heels, looked upon Harry in a way he vaguely remembered from the night Dumbledore finally divulged the reason of Voldemort's continual attempts on his life nearly a year and a half ago. Exhaustion, sadness, regret, empathy, and pain; so many emotions flickered past the old man's face in seconds. Harry held Dumbledore's gaze for several minutes as a sour feeling began to spread from the depths his stomach and an invisible weight pushed on his shoulders.

"I remember your first match," said Dumbledore, staring once more toward the Quidditch pitch. "I was astounded by the ease and natural comfort you found on your broom. Neither of us will ever forget that spectacular catch. I remember your exhilaration and unabashed joy as you were surrounded by your team mates and friends. Little did I know that you would have so few moments like it again."

"I have never been prouder of a student than I am of you, Harry," continued Dumbledore, his chest puffing visibly underneath his robes. "After each of the increasingly terrible ordeals you suffered, I always tried to envision myself in your place, wondering if I would have fared the same. Every time I did, I came to the swift conclusion I would not. I try to imagine the Patronus you cast to save yourself and Sirius from a hundred Dementors. I try to imagine the terrible burden of hearing your parent's last words you had to bear every time they came near, only to remind myself how fortunate I truly am. I never dreamed I would have a person like you on my hands. And I am glad that I did, because shortly before my death I was reminded what it means to live by those words I uttered on the eve of Cedric's death." Dumbledore looked painfully at Harry.

"Where was I, Harry? Where was I when you needed me? I could have spared you many burdens. I held the prophecy at bay in favor of your happiness, only to have allowed other burdens to tarnish your childhood. For the dangers I allowed to cross your path I may as well have delivered your corpse into Tom's cold hands. I let you bear the vindictiveness of the school during your second and fourth year terms. I let you shoulder the weight of confronting the magical world and its blindness to truth. In death, I left you wounded and with an insurmountable task."

"Professor, my friends and I found trouble because we went looking for it most of the time," said Harry. "Well, actually I usually led them to danger, if I'm honest. I'm just as responsible, if not more so. And I wasn't the only one trying to convince the wizarding world of Voldemort's return. Look at how you suffered; they nearly stripped you of everything."

"Titles, accolades, reputation," interjected Dumbledore, "are useless things, Harry. They can be tarnished easily given the passage of time and can likewise be repaired given an equal amount of time. Their value is only the value we give them. But childhood and innocence is priceless and I cannot give them back to you."

"What are you trying to say, Professor?"

"Sometimes guilt burrows deep enough to influence who we become," said the Headmaster heavily. "And I know guilt, and guilt changed me. I grew into a person who easily weighed people's worth, a person who could make split-second decisions on what was acceptable to sacrifice and what must be protected at all costs. Guilt paralyzed me; I made safe decisions and chose paths that assured the greatest chance for success, even at the expense of doing what was right. I once told you how remarkable of a man you were, at the age of eleven, to have looked upon the Mirror of Erised and not see yourself prosper in the ways in which it promised. I know few people who could have done so, and certainly not at the age of eleven. More importantly, it was through your selflessness that my own selfishness began to shine like a burning sun."

"My selfish plans focused on the enemy's queen instead of those I treated as my own pawns on a chessboard. At times I treated you much the same way. I treated your right to know the truth as a pawn, sacrificing it in exchange for your happiness, staunchly guarding it like a king. You see it, Harry, what I have truly done to you? Instead of regarding you as a whole person, I weighed the worth of every aspect of your life because I thought I knew best. I weighed the value of the prophecy over the value of your happiness. I have kept secrets from you because I considered their value less than your happiness. I have fought two dark wizards in my lifetime, always weighing the value of things and people. I believed that if I could keep myself detached, I could see the wizarding world through its darkest moments. People would die, but in the end, justified because our side won. Do not misunderstand me; I wanted to save everyone. War takes from both sides and only hate and pain are left in their place. I told you this once before; so long as you were here, now, safe and happy, other lives lost were tolerable. And now, I must lay a burden at your feet that it will take what is most priceless from you."

"Sir, please, just say it," said Harry.

Time came to a standstill as the noonday sunlight filled the headmaster's office. Dumbledore returned to his seat at the desk, his breathing now distinctly harsh and shallow. Harry's mind was abuzz with activity, his thoughts trying desperately to see where this conversation was going, but nothing, he concluded, could be worse than having the fate of the world rest on his shoulders.

"I began to suspect not long after I found the ring that another Horcrux had been inadvertently made by Tom, a Horcrux unlike any in history ever known," said Dumbledore while he nervously stroked his beard with his blackened hand, which was now quivering as if ice cold. But as Harry returned his gaze to the headmaster's face, he saw streams of tears flowing down his wrinkled cheeks and into his beard. Suddenly the room felt hot and suffocating. Harry could feel the walls of the room drawing closer, pushing a great weight upon his entire body. His heart pounded heavily against his ribcage in a mad desire to burst from his chest.

"I'm the last one," said Harry, his voice barely audible, but in the silence of the room his whisper was like a shout. "I'm the last Horcrux, aren't I, professor?"

"I—I searched everywhere, everywhere I c-could find any m-mention of Horcruxes for ways to d-des—destr—" but the Dumbledore could not finish the sentence as he broke down and wept into the palms of his hands. Harry knew the word Dumbledore had struggled to say. He felt empty and lifeless. This he imagined was what it must be like to receive a Dementor's Kiss. He continued to watch as Dumbledore slammed his blackened hand on the desk in both anger and defeat.

"It's alright, professor," said Harry, not entirely sure if it was the professor or himself he was feebly assuring. Dumbledore slowly raised his head, his eyes now bloodshot and raw and his beard visibly damp and glistening in the reflections of the sunlight.

"How did you know," asked Harry. "When did you know I was a Horcrux?"

"I discovered a very old tome hidden among Egyptian sorcerer writings. In it, I found the most complete account of Horcruxes, containing an incantation to reveal an existing Horcrux. Prior to the Christmas holiday, well past midnight, I entered your dormitory, concealed my presence and performed the charm as you lay sleeping. The prophecy, as great a burden as it is, was never a question of how to tell you, it was when. This however, was unlike anything I have ever deal with, for I had already given you too many burdens."

"In order to create a Horcrux," continued Dumbledore, "a spell is cast upon the intended victim and the castor himself, accomplishing two purposes; the first is the splitting of the soul of the castor, and the second, tying the castor and the intended victim briefly together at the deepest level of magic known. Like the force of love, life is yet another expression of magic at its purest form, while the creation of a Horcrux is against the natural existence of life. While this spell is active, the one intent upon making the Horcrux murders the intended victim. I believe, and I feel confident I am right, that when your mother willingly gave her life to shield you from Tom, the purest magic was placed upon you as a shield; life and love, and thus, the Horcrux Voldemort intended to make failed when the killing curse, a spell fueled by the intent to eliminate life and powered by hate, collided with the magical essence of love, leaving you that scar. That protection saved you from the killing curse, but the incantation Tom performed prior to your intended murder was still in effect, leaving the already separated fragment of Tom's soul without a container. It latched onto the only living thing in the house. In a way, Tom achieved what he had set out to do in the first place, but not in the way he intended and in doing so, gave you both the burden of the prophecy and the burden of housing a portion of his soul."

"And so I resolved to find a solution," said Dumbledore, his voice weak but filled with evident disdain. "I was determined to find a way to spare you this last burden. I cannot say if the Egyptians were the first to explore such dark magic, but it was evident in their writing that such creations were resilient to destruction. To my despair, there was no mention of known ways to extract a soul from its container other than the complete destruction of the container itself, which would also destroy the fragment of soul within."

"Further reading revealed that the Egyptians believed it was possible for a splintered soul to become whole once more, but only if the creator of the Horcrux demonstrated true remorse for their actions, particularly toward the victims used to create the Horcrux in the first place. The Egyptian sorcerers were if nothing else, observant people, and they recognized that love was essential to remorse. I believe both of us can feel confident that Tom is incapable of demonstrating remorse. He does not love. Even if it were possible for Tom to experience such a change of heart, the container of the Horcrux would still be destroyed in the processes. Lastly, the Egyptians recorded that only Feindfyre had proven successful in destroying Horcruxes. Of course, we know that Basilisk Venom is equally destructive to the Horcrux after your encounter with the diary. Regardless, my answer could not be found in the ancient Egyptian writings. It became imperative now for you to secure the real memory from Horace. I had hoped that securing Horace's authentic memory of his conversation with Tom would reveal what magical lore did not. To my horror, it did, but not in the way I had hoped. We now knew what we were dealing with, but I was once more without an answer to what mattered most."

"You speak Parseltongue," continued Dumbledore, "because a piece of Tom's soul lives within you. You have access to his mind because his is linked with yours. Your hot temper and impatience are exemplified because they are fueled by Tom's tendencies and traits. Your magical strength has been stunted as it unconsciously battles against the foreign presence within you. I also believe this is why Tom could so easily possess your body. In other words, a war of wills battles within you."

"I've always known," said Harry in a hollow voice, "that somehow it might come to this. I'll do what I have to do, professor. I will see it through, no matter what. I'm the only one that can. Just tell me what I need to do." Dumbledore looked upon Harry in disbelief. His eyes, still red and glistening, betrayed the headmaster's fear.

"Run," said Dumbledore quietly.

"What?"

"You do not owe the magical world this debt, Harry."

"But, the prophecy," protested Harry, "I'm the only one that can."

"This burden is too much," said Dumbledore resolutely. "I once helped you find resolve to see this struggle to the end, not because of the prophecy, but because it was the right thing to do. I can help you and your friends disappear completely. It is the least I can do after failing you when you needed me most."

"I—I can't," said Harry. His mind was working rapidly now. True; he could easily run and his self-preserving instincts urged him to do so. His mind imagined the consequences of failing to see this burden to the end; he saw the Weasley's tortured, Muggles slaughtered, his classmates bowing at the hem of Voldemort's robes. He re-lived Mad-Eye's death, Sirius' graceful fall into the veil, Cedric's sudden defeat, Dumbledore's descent into the shadow of the astronomy tower. He saw Ron's angry scowl, accusing him of his cowardice over the dead bodies of his parents. And worst of all, he saw Hermione's disappointment, her image of the gallant Harry Potter shattered into pieces as she was led away into the darkness in shackles, her fate unknown. Harry fell from his chair and onto his knees as the pain struck at this chest. Could he condemn them to such a fate? For the first time, consciously, Harry deliberately weighed his life to that of his friends, to those already gone, and those who might survive, and found their future worth giving his.

_ "…I'm just trying to help you see the small light at the end of the tunnel…we've all got to keep our eyes on it or we'll lose ourselves even if we do make it out alive…"_

If he did run and survive, live the rest of his life hiding, what would it be worth? Harry smiled inwardly as he finally realized the light he would fight for. It wouldn't be for the wizarding world's happiness. It would be most of all for the person who never left his side. And it would be for Ron and all the Weasley's and his fellow Gryffindor's. Slowly, then, Harry picked himself up from the floor and stood fiercely determined, his eyes locking with Dumbledore's.

"I love them too much," he said.

"Once more, Harry, your selflessness burns like the sun to a man plagued by shadow. Are you sure this is the path you wish to take? Can you honestly, and willingly, give your life to see Tom destroyed for good?"

"For the world," answered Harry, "no, I can't. But I can for my parents, for Sirius, for Cedric, for Mad-Eye, and for my friends."

Dumbledore considered Harry for several minutes. Then, finally, the headmaster bowed his head to his student before rising once more to his full height, his face radiating with new determination.

"There is a possibility, though a very small one, that you could survive another killing curse," said Dumbledore. Harry stared at Dumbledore.

"But then, how is the Horcrux destroyed if I live?"

"Normally, the killing curse is ineffective to a Horcrux. This is due in part from the intent of the spell when it was created. Its purpose is to rip the soul from a living vessel, not an inanimate one. As you are a living vessel, the killing curse will, I am certain, destroy the fragment of soul within you, as well as your own. As I told you, I did not find a way to save you from this burden, but I did stumble upon a theory of my own. I do not tell you this to give you false hope. I do not know for certain that it will work. No one has ever breached this magic before."

"You remember what Tom took form you in order to return to his body?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "He took my blood."

"Precisely," said Dumbledore with a sense of triumph. "He took your blood, blood that contains the sacrifice of your mother, and therefore, carries her intent and will. Once more, magic in its purest form bind you and Tom in ways no one has ever been bound. Though no proof exists for such thinking, I believe her protection still lingers, weakened through that horrid ritual. It is possible it may protect you once more. However, it must be activated in the same way your mother provided you the protection in the first place."

"So, I have to give my life without defending myself?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I have heard it said within the Muggle community that _greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends_."

"Love," whispered Harry.

"Yes," affirmed Dumbledore. "Love ties all of humanity together. Incapable as they are to manipulate the forces of magic, Muggles also recognize that love is the source of true strength. It is magic we are incapable of truly manipulating or imitating, because love does not manipulative. It is pure. It will not expose itself to those who seek to control it or gain it for selfish desires, but rather to those who give themselves to it. It compels us to do what is otherwise impossible."

"So how do I do it," asked Harry. "I don't know where to start."

"This war will not be easy, Harry," said Dumbledore as he began to pace back and forth behind his desk. "You will face difficult choices, you will witness terrible events, and you will suffer great loss. Each time it will become more difficult to make the right choice. Tom will try to break you by taking everyone and everything you hold dear. You, more than anyone, will feel the pressure to act swiftly to bring the war to an end, giving Tom an opportunity to capitalize on any of your mistakes. Guilt will bite at your heels with every death you believe you could have prevented had you been smarter, faster, or somehow more powerful. You _must_ resist that pull or Tom will win, even after your sacrifice. You must destroy all the Horcruxes before you go to face him for the final time. I assume you received my possessions per the will?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Sir, why did you give me the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Because I used it to destroy the ring," said Dumbledore.

"Scrimgeour said it was missing," said Harry deflating.

"Of course it is," said Dumbledore with a smile. "The Sword of Gryffindor belongs to no one and will present itself as it always has; to a worthy Gryffindor in a time of great need."

"And the Snitch?"

"Will open when the time is right," said Dumbledore.

"Sir, do you know where the other Horcruxes are?"

"I do not," said Dumbledore sadly. "The snake will likely be at Tom's side when you go to destroy it, and therefore likely the last Horcrux you destroy before confronting Tom. I had suspicions that it may be possible for Tom to have passed on one of them to a follower much in the same way he did with Lucius. Harry, you mentioned that the Horcrux we found in the cave was a fake—was there any clue as to who replaced it?"

"Just a note," said Harry. "It said he'd found out Voldemort's secret. Whoever they were, they knew they were going to die. He signed it with the initials of R.A.B."

"R.A.B.," mumbled Dumbledore. "Hmm…I am not sure who that might be. I would suggest devoting your attention to finding the identity of this mystery person as it is the best lead you have. Perhaps uncovering their identity may lead you not only to the real Horcrux, but also to others. Also—"

But Dumbledore was interrupted as the whole office shook slightly and the sunlight penetrating the office windows dimmed.

"It seems we are nearly out of time, Harry," said Dumbledore. "This enchantment will last only a short while longer. Once you leave, this memory will dissipate and be gone forever. I have one last thing to say to you; do not forget your friends. The burden is yours, but you do not have to lift it on your own."

"Professor," said Harry as he felt the floor beneath him vanished and the walls of the office blur into a mixture of colors.

"Yes, Harry?"

"You made a memory like this for Ron and Hermione, right?"

"I did."

"You won't tell them what I am, will you?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "What I have to tell them is much different. It is your choice to tell them or not."

"Thank you, professor," said Harry as he felt himself pulled from the memory.


	16. The Letter

**Hello everyone! Continued thanks to everyone who has stuck by the story and waited patiently for every chapter - you are the best. **

**Getting back into some plot progression here, but there's a Harry/Hermione moment for all your patience. Plus, it developed quite naturally, so why fight it? As always, none of this is mine, it's JK's, even though I don't agree with every word she wrote. **

Chapter Sixteen: The Letter

Morning came swiftly with sunlight burning between the curtains. Harry wrestled himself from the confines of his sleeping bag. He lazily slid on his glasses and surveyed the room. Ron and Hermione were on either side of him, sleeping soundly. He smiled briefly as he looked down on Hermione, curled on the floor. Ron had attempted, and failed miserably, at insisting that Hermione take the sofa.

_"I'm not a fragile piece of glass, Ron,"_ she had said after refusing several times to sleep on the sofa. However, the memory only briefly distracted Harry as thoughts of his conversation with Dumbledore surfaced once more on his mind. Not wanting his thoughts to run away in the quiet of the living room, Harry quietly made his way from the living room and climbed the stairs.

It had only been two short years ago that he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins began their struggle of cleaning the Black ancestral home, yet the dust persisted, muffling his footsteps as he ascended to the second landing. Indeed, it seemed to Harry the house was both eternally destined and determined to remain fitting of its heritage. He paused as he came to the very room he and Ron had bunked in that eventful summer. He looked inside the room as he recalled his angry outburst toward his friends after that fateful run-in with the Dementors.

Caught up in his thoughts, he was only vaguely aware of climbing to the third landing. To his right was Sirius' bedroom. The door was closed. He had never ventured to his godfather's room in all his time at Grimmauld. His hand wavered as it touched the brass door handle as a wave of emotion rushed over him. It felt wrong to trespass. Then again, he could not ignore the invisible pull urging him to step over the threshold as he pushed the door open as it offered a subdued creak.

The room was in complete disarray. Spacious and once immaculate, the hardwood floor was littered in dust, scraps of parchment, disheveled books, and a few broken trinkets. The dresser had been clearly sifted through, as had the wardrobe closet. Someone had been here.

His eyes then shifted from the contents scattered on the floor to the room as a whole. Unlike the rest of the house, the room reflected just how far Sirius' path had deviated from that of his parents and heritage. Large Gryffindor banners were draped over the silvery-gray walls, accompanied without shame, by several posters featuring bikini-clad Muggle women, as evidenced by their stationary poses. However, it was the photograph affixed to the wall at the center of the room that captured his attention.

The four of them stood arm in arm, all of them smiling broadly, reveling in their carefree world. Sirius, tall, straight-backed and brimming with confidence, stood arm locked with a young man Harry immediately recognized as his father, his untidy black hair a dead give-away. It was almost like looking upon himself in a mirror. He was the clear alpha male. Harry couldn't resist smiling. No matter how many people told him he was just like his father, he couldn't help but feel certain the only thing he'd inherited from his father was looks. To the right of Sirius was the rat. Harry paid him little attention. On James' left was Remus, shabby-dressed and betraying the smallest hint of doubt behind his smile. Still, he looked absolutely pleased that there were people who accepted him as he was. Harry reached for the photograph, gingerly attempting to pull it away from the wall. It wouldn't budge.

_You would make sure no one could remove it, wouldn't you, Sirius?_

Giving the photograph a final look over, he returned his attention to the rest of the room, examining the misplaced contents of Sirius' last sanctuary. _Someone was looking for something_, he thought as walked around the room, surveying the various sifted books and papers. Whatever the culprit—likely Mundungus, Harry reasoned—was looking for, it was clear they found little of anything valuable. While the house undoubtedly contained items of considerable value, none of them would have been worth an ounce of Sirius. Everything his godfather would have cared for was stuck to the walls in the room.

He turned his attention to the bed. It was a beautiful bed made of dark mahogany and showcased ornate carvings in the headboard that extended down the frame and into the curled legs beneath. A few books were strewn upon the disturbed covers and accompanied bits of parchment and various leaflets. He rummaged through them, giving each a quick glance. Finally he came to some parchment that had been handled quite roughly. He smoothed it out and felt his breath catch.

_Dear Padfoot, _

_ You irresponsible dog! Why would you ever think a toy broomstick is an acceptable gift for a one year old? If you were here I'd personally charm a horde of fleas to go with your other dog-like traits as a reward for your flea-brained brilliance. Boys! He's a natural of course, just like his father. It's nearly impossible to separate him from the broom. James isn't any more responsible, mind you. Yesterday he was actually trying to get Harry to catch the Christmas ornaments while he flew a foot or two off the carpet. I swear Quidditch turns every boy, no matter his age, into a brainless, one-track-minded simpleton incapable of constructive thought and oblivious to danger. He's already broken the hideous vase Petunia sent and I'm hard pressed to feel sorry about it. The poor cat darts from sight every time he zooms around the corner. I've included a picture. Still, thank you for his gift—it is undoubtedly his favorite. It's also a welcome distraction for James as it keeps his mind off of being shut up in the house._

_We're sorry you couldn't be here. I know how much you wanted too, but the Order has to come first. Besides, Harry doesn't even realize it's his birthday. Bathilda came by and she absolutely dotes on Harry. Dumbledore borrowed James' Invisibility Cloak, so there's no chance for a little excursion. It would do James a world of good if you could stop by when you have the chance. Wormy stopped by a few days before. I'm worried about him, Padfoot. He looked so down. You heard about the McKinnons, I'm sure; I cried all evening when I found out. Maybe that's why Wormy was down? _

_ It's not all gloom though. We are enjoying our time with Harry, as well as Bathilda when she drops in. She tells the most amazing stories about Dumbledore. I'm not sure he'd be too happy if he knew. Some of it is incredible of course, but I struggle with how much to believe sometimes. I can't imagine that Dumbledore was friends with someone like_

Harry dropped to the bed while his grip doubled on the priceless parchment. At last he held tangible proof that life was normal at least some of the time before Halloween. It was also proof that Lily Potter lived beyond the images of photographs. He smiled again as he read the letter once more. Only the tender age of one, yet he was already the proud owner of a broom. A rush of emotion crashed over him as he realized that Sirius had been the one to unite him with his first love.

His dad was already tossing him Christmas ornaments. They had a cat. Did it also perish the night Voldemort trespassed upon their abode, another unnecessary victim in his quest to eliminate any threat to his power? Everything in the letter brought to life a world Harry had only previously imagined. Now he had definitive evidence for one of them.

The letter raised questions too. Why did Dumbledore have his father's cloak in the first place? Had someone in the Order needed it? Wormtail was down in spirits—had he realized that encounter might be the last time he would see them alive again as the last vestige of guilt escaped from his eyes unnoticed? Sirius was away for the Order—what had he been doing? The joy the letter had brought him was temporarily doused by the letter's abrupt ending. He could see the bottom portion of the parchment had been torn off, leaving a jagged edge and a few short tares. Dumbledore was friends with someone, but who? What was so unbelievable about the friendship? Dumbledore had been friends with many people, all of them equally distinguished and well known in many cases, like Nicholas Flammel, the creator of the Sorcerer's Stone. Determined to find the answer, he scoured the remaining leaflets of parchment strewn on the bed, but found nothing of the letter's remnants. He did however find the picture his mother had referenced. He watched as baby Harry zoomed around the kitchen corner with his father chasing after him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the soft knock on the door. He turned to see Hermione standing in the doorway. She had only been awake a few minutes as evidenced by the frizzy-ness of her hair.

"I'm not surprised to see you in here," she said surveying the room as she approached the bedside where Harry was still sitting. "What happened in here?"

"Dunno," said Harry with a shrug. "Somebody's been here looking for something."

"Strange, the rest of the house appears to have been left undisturbed."

"Maybe Kreacher cleaned it up," offered Harry. "This has 'Dung written all over it. No telling what he's nicked."

"What's that in your hand," she asked taking a seat beside him.

"It's," began Harry, finding himself speechless. Instead, he handed the letter over along with the photograph. With a curious look, she took the letter. Harry watched as her eyes darted back and forth quickly. Her chocolate brown eyes grew steadily from dry to wet as she looked up from the letter to the photograph and finally to Harry. She took a moment to wipe her eyes on her sleeve and took a steadying breath.

"I'll put these in your album for you," she said softly as she pulled him into a one-armed hug. Harry nodded his quiet appreciation. As they sat there on the bed with the sunlight peeking through the window, the previous night's conversation came back to him.

_"There's something you're not telling us, isn't there," asked Hermione when Harry had recounted his heavily abridged version of the conversation that had taken place inside the Pensieve. "I can't imagine Dumbledore going through all this work just to tell you about the fourth principle of spell casting that is in every basic textbook we had in our first year. He could have told you about the sword in the letter too, since it was sealed and couldn't be broken." _

_ "Look, Hermione, some of it was personal," said Harry. "It wasn't about Horcruxes, or the sword or anything else. There's a reason he gave us each a vial. I don't know what he will say to you or Ron, but I know it's not meant for me." _

And yet as he sat in her comforting embrace he felt the tug-of-war within. He wanted to let everything spill over and confess the truth, to reveal the fate he alone had to face, only to strengthen his resolve further to spare her pain.

"I'm sorry for pressing you last night," she said.

"It's okay."

"It was just like me, butting my nose in where it didn't belong. Just like your broomstick."

"That's not true."

"It is," she said finitely.

"If you didn't butt your nose into my life I wouldn't have made it here." She shook her head aggressively.

"Whatever Dumbledore had to say to you must have been terribly personal and emotional. I can tell—you're carrying more weight than you were before."

"I am," he said. "But it's different from the prophecy."

"And you can't tell me," she said defeated but with a distinct sniffle.

"Not now," he said. "I've got a lot to think about, not just Horcruxes and the prophecy. I am struggling with something though."

"Tell me."

"No matter how many times he said it wasn't my fault, I still feel guilty for living when he's not. It's the same with Cedric, Sirius and my parents, even Mad-Eye if I'm honest. I see them all the time, calling for me, but I never make it in time." He felt Hermione's hand slide up his back and rest on his neck. He looked up and met her gaze. "I see you and Ron all the time."

"We're going to be right beside you, Harry," she said. He nodded but her words did little to ease his fear.

"Dumbledore warned me that guilt would tempt me to act hastily and that Voldemort would take advantage of it. He has before. He'll take everything that matters to me until I have nothing left worth fighting for. Promise me, Hermione, that you won't let me fall into that trap."

"I promise," she said.

"I don't want to be the same like I was with Sirius."

"Harry, it's true that we have to be careful and patient and think before we act, but we might not always get that chance. There's a difference between taking caution and being paralyzed by fear. You have good instincts, so don't ignore them. And it will be different this time." Hermione shifted her body on the bed, gesturing for Harry to do the same until they were no longer siting side-by-side, but rather across from each other. Gently, her hands slid back and forth over his shoulders as they came to rest on either side of his neck. The familiar comfort of her touch sent electric shivers up his spine. It was the same feeling when they had danced no less than twenty-four hours ago.

"This time it will be different," she repeated, pulling Harry from his thoughts as their eyes locked. "You're afraid you'll lose us but I'm just as afraid of losing you. This time I'm stepping through the flames with you." Harry opened his mouth but only the sound of his catching breath came forth. He watched as she bit her lower lip, her eyes betraying her uncertainty of what she said would be accepted. Harry's mind felt jumbled but a strand of thought broke through; despite her and Ron's continual reassurances they were all in, he had always felt alone. But this declaration pierced him like a knife. Only she could have said those words, and only she could have understood their impact. She was truly willing to walk through fire with him.

"Thank you," was all he could manage. Hermione smiled broadly now, her thumbs unconsciously stroking his neck. Harry returned her smile. Then, abruptly, she pulled her hands away and leapt up from the bed.

"We should probably head downstairs," she said with her back to him. She picked up the letter and the photo of baby Harry and gave it one more glance before she turned and smiled rather teasingly.

"You were a very cute baby, Harry. I'll get this in the album. Maybe you can make breakfast and I'll see if I can rouse the sleeping lion from his den." Harry nodded and Hermione rushed out of the room. He gave one last look around the room.

_I won't let you down, Sirius. _

Harry closed the door behind him with a soft thud. He turned toward the stairs as the glint of something shiny caught his attention. He walked over to the door across from Sirius' bedroom. On the door was a nameplate, simple, gold plated and read:

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

Harry stared at the nameplate. A cold shiver ran up his back.

"Hermione," he shouted down the stairwell. "Hermione, come quick—bring Ron too!"

"What is it," she answered as she bolted up the stairs, dragging Ron behind her.

"R.A.B.—I've found him."

"In Sirius' room? I didn't see anything—"

Harry pointed to the name plate.

"Oh Merlin," she whispered. "Sirius' brother?"

"He was a Death Eater," said Harry, looking to both of them. "Sirius told me that when we were looking at the family tree. He joined young and got cold feet—tried to leave—Sirius reckoned they killed him."

"But I thought You-Know-Who didn't tell anybody about his Horcruxes," said Ron as he tried vigorously to rub away the drowsiness in his eyes.

"No he wouldn't have told Regulus either, but it fits," said Hermione. "If he became disenchanted with Voldemort, well, who knows what he might have discovered. As a Death Eater, he'd have more of a chance of discovering it."

"Do you reckon the locket might be in there," asked Ron. "And if we're going in, can we at least have breakfast first?"

"Eat later, Ron," said Harry as he gripped the door handle and gave a yank. The door was locked. Wordlessly, Hermione tapped the door with her wand the distinct click of the lock echoed down the stairwell. Together with wands out, they entered the room.

The room was poorly lit, the only sliver of light breaking through a tiny window high above the bed. Emerald and dull silver draped everything from the bed to the walls. Along with the draping, the walls were plastered with old yellow newspaper cuttings, each highlighting various headlines with images of the Dark Mark, Death Eater's in their regalia, and a few with Voldemort himself.

"They're all about Voldemort," said Hermione as she read through each headline quickly. "He must have thought about joining even while he was attending Hogwarts." Harry started shuffling through the dresser. It seemed as good a hiding place as any. Ron dropped to his hands and knees with his wand lit and peeked under the bed.

"_Accio Locket,"_ chanted Hermione looking rather triumphant. However, nothing came and her look turned to disappointment.

"It's a good thought," said Harry moving on to the wardrobe. "I tried the same thing when I was with Dumbledore in the cave. I'm sure Voldemort will have enchanted it to resist summoning charms.

"How do we find it then," asked Ron disappointingly as he plopped onto the bed and sending a cloud of dust into the air.

"We'll have to search for it by hand," said Hermione. So, with a grumbling Ron, the three of them combed every inch of the room for well over an hour. No locket was found.

"Can we have breakfast now," asked a very grumpy Ron.

"Where would he have hidden it," asked Hermione as though Ron hadn't said anything.

"Dunno," said Harry. And then it hit him.

"Wait," he said, "remember the summer we spent cleaning this house?" Hermione's hand flew up to cover her gasp as her eyes widened.

"Yes," she said. "Remember all those horrid things we tossed out of the house? The clock that fired bolts at passerby, or the robes that tried to strangle Ron; he could have put them there to protect the locket's hiding place. We might have looked right past it and…and…"

"We had it," she said finally. "There was a locket…the one we all tried to open…the one we threw out." Despair struck Harry.

"So it's gone then," said Ron unbelievingly.

"It went into the sack of rubbish like all the rest," said Hermione slowly, flopping onto the bed beside Ron and disturbing once more the recently dislodged dust.

"Hold on," said Harry suddenly. "Kreacher nicked loads of stuff back, kept them in his closet." Without waiting for them he dashed from the room and descended to the ground floor several steps at a time. He was so loud the portrait of Sirius' mother woke with a deafening screech as she began to spew forth insults.

_"Filth! Scum! Half-bloods, blood-traitors and mudbloods! Get out of my house!" _

Harry ignored her rantings as he barreled into the kitchen. Ron and Hermione followed closely behind as Ron slammed the kitchen door shut. Harry reached the door of Kreacher's cupboard and nearly pulled the old door from its hinges. It was a revolting sight; old dirty blankets were piled in the shape of a nest. Nothing of Kreacher's previously salvaged trinkets were to be found. Harry lifted the blankets, refusing defeat. Ron slid down against the wall.

"We had it," said Hermione softly, defeat in her eyes.

"No, it's not over yet," said Harry. He raised his voice and yelled.

"KREACHER!"


	17. The Nature of House-Elves

**Here we go! Another familiar scene with hopefully a bit of a new twist on the whole Harry/Kreacher relationship. As always, I'm appreciative to those who review and give their encouragement as well as their constructive criticism. **

**Just a reminder for those who have kept on the whole time, this is intended to be as near canon to DH as possible. So if you are looking for a story that takes a significant AU turn, this story will not meet your criteria. Yes, there will be Au moments, but only if they support meaningfully to the overall story of DH. The story will begin to deviate slightly as Harry and Hermione grow in their relationship. Anyway, all that to say I hope you are enjoying my attempt at being loyal to the original while I add my own personal tidbits to the story. **

**Also, I thought I would add that many of you might be thinking just what role is old Snape going to play, now that his vital role of telling harry he is a Horcrux has been removed by yours truly. He still has an important role to play, a role that actually fits with Dumbledore's plan to get him closer to Voldemort in the first place. **

**For those who might feel Ron has been heavily side-lined, I must admit that he has indeed been side-lined a bit, but fear not-he will have his moment before this story is over. Having written that bit already, I was shocked myself that I had to reevaluate my opinion of Ron just slightly. No, I don't think he's useless, if you're wondering. And now, without further ado, the next chapter. It all belongs to Rowling. **

***Don't worry, you haven't seen the last of Fawkes-he will be very important. **

Chapter Seventeen: The Nature of House-Elves

With a loud crack, the disgruntled and aged house elf of Grimmauld Place appeared at the doorway of the kitchen. Pale-skinned with long floppy pointed ears, Kreacher stood before them severely hunched over with a contemptuous glare.

"Master summons Kreacher back into my Mistress' home with the envious blood-traitor Weasley and the know-it-all Mudblood—"

"Kreacher, you will never call anyone 'blood-traitor' or 'Mudblood' ever again," ordered Harry. Kreacher opened his mouth but no words came out as he grasped his throat in a clear effort to obey his master's order.

"Harry, stop him," said Hermione with a slight catch in her voice.

"Kreacher, I order you not to punish yourself," said Harry. Kreacher looked at Harry, his expression one of complete bewilderment, but after a long moment of consideration, Kreacher lowered his hands as his contemptuous stare returned.

"Kreacher, two years ago we found a locket, a locket that none of us could open. It had an ornate 's' on it. We threw it out. Did you take it back? Tell me." Kreacher rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes rolling to the back of head and back into focus.

"Kreacher," Harry warned.

"Yes, Kreacher took the locket, along with Mistress' gloves and other things."

"Where is it now?" asked Harry, unable to conceal his anticipation. Ron and Hermione began looking triumphant once more.

"Gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Stolen…taken under the cover of night…filthy hands touching poor Mistress' things."

"Who, Kreacher," Harry asked, though he felt he knew the answer already.

"Mundungus Fletcher," Kreacher said, his eyes shut tight and his voice higher than usual. "Miss Bella's and Miss Cissy's pictures, my Mistress' gloves, the Order of Merlin, the goblets and silver with the family crest, and—"

"The locket," said Harry. Kreacher threw himself to the floor and reached for the poker standing in the fire grate. Before Harry or the others could react, Kreacher began to bludgeon himself as he lay on the floor, his body acting in a fit of seizure as he screamed:

"Master Regulus' locket. Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher did wrong. Kreacher must be punished. Kreacher failed Master Regulus!"

Harry moved to restrain the elf as his screams grew louder and a small puddle of blood was already pooling beneath his head and onto the stone floor. Harry yanked the poker from the elf's surprisingly strong grip and threw it haphazardly back into the grate. Harry then restrained the elf with his full weight, pinning both of the elf's hands to the floor and bellowed.

"Kreacher, be still!"

The elf froze. Once sure Kreacher would not move unless allowed too, he stood up to catch his own breath. The short struggle had been more difficult than expected.

"Harry, he's still bleeding," said Hermione.

"Can you heal him," he asked. Hermione nodded and withdrew her wand and pointed it at the fresh cut in the elf's scalp. After a minute the wound had been healed and with a last flick of her wand, the blood was cleaned from the stone floor.

"You should let him up," she said.

"So he can attempt to beat himself to death again?"

"It isn't right," she said firmly. Her eyes told him everything.

"I know," said Harry. "But I can't let him go. Once he's freed he's no longer bound by anyone. He can say anything he wants about the Order. A lot of people could be in danger if we do."

"What if you forbid him from doing self-harm ever again?" Harry nodded.

"Kreacher, I forbid you from ever causing yourself harm ever again." The house elf gave him a murderous glare.

"I don't think he liked that much," observed Ron.

"I don't care if he likes me," said Harry. "I just want information." He stood over Kreacher as he fought the loathing and hateful thoughts darting through his brain. He struggled to find empathy for the elf knowing that some of the blame of Sirius' death lay at the elf's feet. As the hate festered in his stomach, Dumbledore's now distant words echoed in the back of his mind. _…Yes, he is to be pitied…Kreacher is what he has been made by wizards…_ He looked over to the cupboard where Kreacher slept and felt a sense of familiarity: the cupboard. He knew, inside, that Kreacher had certainly suffered and lived a difficult life. However, he could not justify Kreacher's actions that night. Kreacher had deliberately chosen to betray Sirius. He had made a choice. He thought of Dobby and how he had purposely worked against Malfoy's plan to save a life, even when he had to punish himself for doing so, while Kreacher had done the very opposite. Indeed, when compared to Dobby, who had likely been treated far worse than Kreacher on a daily basis, the excuses made for Kreacher's actions were pitiful at best. He looked at the cupboard once more and shook his head. If Dumbledore's logic was to be followed, he too should have been as vindictive and twisted as the creature lying on the floor. Harry felt his fists clench and the hate stir once more in his stomach.

"Kreacher, I'm going to let you sit up, but before I do, I want your word that you will never lie to me, to Hermione, or to Ron ever again. If we ask you a question, you will be truthful, leaving nothing out, no matter how small the detail. This is an order. Do you understand?" The look on Kreacher's face was beyond murderous now, but the elf nodded.

"Kreacher, please sit up." Kreacher sat up on the floor, crossed his legs and held himself tightly as though trying to warm himself.

"How do you know Mundungus took the locket," he asked.

"Kreacher saw him, arms full of Kreacher's treasures taken from Kreacher's room. Kreacher ordered the sneak thief to stop, but the thief only laughed at poor Kreacher."

"Why did you call the locket 'Master Regulus,'" asked Harry. "Tell me everything Regulus had to do with it."

"Master Regulus was a proper wizard, unlike Master Sirius who ran away and broke my Mistress' heart. When Master Regulus turned sixteen years of age he joined the Dark Lord in his quest to bring wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles. So proud and so happy to serve he was." Kreacher's eyes became distant for a moment as his ears perked slightly and what might be considered a look of youthful joy on the old elf's face surfaced. But as quickly as it came it vanished as the gray skin on his face folded over.

"A year after he joined, Master Regulus summoned Kreacher. Kind Master Regulus, always liked Kreacher…not like Master Sirius. Master Regulus said the Dark lord required an elf. Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher, said it was an honor for Master and for Kreacher. Kreacher was proud to represent the noble house of Black and serve the Dark Lord. Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do, and then to come home."

"Kreacher did not know what he was to do for the Dark Lord, but he traveled with him to a cave beside the sea. In the cave was a cavern, and in the cavern a great lake as black as the night…"

"There was a boat," whispered Harry, his eyes wide and the hairs sticking up on the back of his neck. Kreacher gave him a wide-eyed stare.

"Master knows of this place?"

"I was there," said Harry. "There was an island at the center, wasn't there?" Kreacher shook his head.

"The Dark Lord made the island," said Kreacher with a sense of awe. "…Conjured a basin…"

"And filled it with a green potion," finished Harry.

"Yes..." said Kreacher. "The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it…" He heard the sharp intake of breath from Hermione as Ron looked both confused and horrified. Harry gave himself a mental note to at least talk with Ron about the cave. He realized that Ron was the most unaware of just how dangerous searching for the Horcruxes would be.

"Kreacher drank and saw terrible things…everything Kreacher had done…all the times he had displeased his poor Mistress..." The elf began to rock back and forth heavily now as he continued his tale. "Kreacher's insides burned. Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, but the Dark Lord only laughed at poor Kreacher…didn't care about poor Kreacher's pain. He made Kreacher drink it all and Kreacher remembers wanting to die. The Dark Lord dropped a locket into the basin and filled it with more potion…and then…he left Kreacher on the island…"

"You drank from the lake," said Harry, reaching out a hand and placing it on the elf's shoulder. Kreacher shuddered at his touch and gave him a look of utter disgust, forcing Harry to retract his hand quickly.

"Kreacher was thirsty, wanted to ease the boiling in his stomach…" Harry felt his eyes water, feeling, for the first time, sorry for Kreacher, but also at the revelation of the depth of suffering Dumbledore had endured in his place.

"…Kreacher drank from the black lake, but dead hands reached out from the water…dragged poor Kreacher under the surface…"

"How did you get away," he asked as he remembered the Inferi's cold grip around his torso.

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.

"But how did you escape the Inferi?"

"Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he repeated.

"Kreacher, I'm ordering you to tell me how—"

"He Disapparated," said Ron.

"That's not possible," said Harry. "Otherwise Dumbledore would've—"

"Elf Magic isn't like our magic, is it," said Ron. "Look at Hogwarts, mate—Elves Apparate and Disapparate all the time and that's supposed to be impossible."

"He never considered that a house-elf might have magic he didn't," said Hermione.

"Kreacher must always do his Master's bidding. Kreacher must follow the highest law."

"So how did Regulus end up with the real locket," asked Harry.

"Kreacher took him to it," said Kreacher. "Master Regulus was worried about Kreacher…told Kreacher to stay hidden and not leave the house. After a while, Master Regulus came to find Kreacher and Kreacher could tell Master was not himself. He asked Kreacher to take him to the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord." And then the elf broke into fitful sobs.

"M-Master had K-Kreacher take him to the c-cave again with the b-black lake. K-Kreacher raised the b-boat and Master t-took K-Kreacher with him t-to the island. Master R-Regulus t-took a loc…locket like the o-one the D-Dark Lord had and t-told Kreacher to t-take it when the basin was e-empty, to switch places…" The elf's cries turned to dry heaves.

"He ordered—Kreacher—to leave—to leave without him. Told Kreacher—go home—never tell anyone, not even my poor Mistress—what he had done—told Kreacher to destroy—the first locket. And Master drank—and Kreacher swapped the original with the fake—and watched…" Harry closed his eyes as Kreacher's last words washed over him.

"…watched as Master Regulus was dragged beneath the water…" Hermione was openly crying now. She went forward to comfort the distressed elf but Kreacher wouldn't have it.

"Kreacher will not allow the Mudblood to touch him." Hermione shrank away visibly frustrated by the elf's stubborn refusal for comfort. Harry's momentary pity for the elf vanished and was about to remind the elf of his previous order when Kreacher threw himself to the floor again. His hands formed into tight fists. Just as the Elf was about to strike a self-imposed blow to the head for his transgression against Hermione, his fist came to a sudden halt inches from his face as though it struck upon an invisible wall. Kreacher flew into hysteria as he struggled to uphold both of Harry's recent commands.

"Harry, make him stop," she cried. "Don't you see how wrong it is—the way they have to obey—stop him!"

"Kreacher, stop it," he shouted, desperate to bring order to the pitiful sight before him. Kreacher complied, but his murderous stare had returned intermixed with his grief over the loss of the only master he had ever been affectionate towards.

"Why weren't you able to destroy the locket, Kreacher," he asked.

"Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing would work…Kreacher was sure if he could get inside, if he could pry the locket open that Kreacher could destroy it. Powerful spells were on the locket…made Kreacher think terrible things…just like the burning potion. Kreacher would try and fail and punish himself, and try again. Poor Kreacher's Mistress was mad with grief when Master Regulus never returned. Kreacher couldn't tell his poor Mistress where he'd gone…"

His tale told, Kreacher broke down completely and wept into his wrinkled hands. Harry shook his head, his thoughts torn. He knew it wasn't right to hold Kreacher in so much contempt but he couldn't help it. He knew that Sirius' death was a responsibility that could be laid at several feet. Voldemort, Dumbledore, both Sirius and himself, Bellatrix, and finally Kreacher.

"I don't understand you, Kreacher," he said finally as he slumped into a chair at the kitchen table. "Voldemort left you to die in that cave and your master gave his life to destroy the locket, yet you were perfectly happy to give Sirius over to Voldemort, despite fighting for the same thing? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, who would have treated you far worse than Sirius ever did…"

"Harry, he doesn't think like that," said Hermione. "He's loyal to those that are kind to him. Kreacher doesn't understand wizard wars, but he understands kindness and loathing, and Sirius loathed Kreacher—and don't look at me like that," she added, catching his indignant stare, "—you know it's true, regardless if he had reason to loathe Kreacher. Kreacher doesn't know what Narcissa and Bellatrix are really like. All he saw was their kindness and didn't stop to consider whether it was genuine or not. I've said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Voldemort will, just as Sirius did." Harry sat silently, his gaze shifting to Ron who also gave Kreacher a troubled look. Once more, Dumbledore's distant words came to mind.

_I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human's…_

He knew Hermione was right, just as Dumbledore had been also. Kreacher had certainly been shaped and twisted by Death Eater and Pureblood-supremacist mentality. But Harry also felt he was right in thinking that Kreacher was more aware of what he was doing than the others were willing to admit. He remembered Dumbledore telling him that Kreacher was laughing, clearly aware of what awaited Sirius…knew exactly what his intended fate would be.

"You're right, Hermione," said Harry. "Kreacher might not have cared one ounce about the war between Voldemort and the rest of the world but I also think you're making too much of an excuse for him; Kreacher knows the difference between right and wrong. He knew full well what he was doing when he lied to me that night. Dumbledore told me that he was laughing when he told Dumbledore what he'd done."

Hermione considered Kreacher tearfully.

"No, I don't think he does, Harry," said Hermione failing miserably at hiding her shock. "Any elf in Kreacher's position, raised in the same way would have likely done something similar."

"No, it's like you've said in the past, Hermione," said Harry. "They deserve to be equal with us. What if it had been a human in Kreacher's place? What if it had been Malfoy?"

"It's not the same thing; they wouldn't be bound to the same magic."

"That's not the issue," said Harry. "It's whether they can tell the difference between right and wrong, and I for one know they are perfectly capable to distinguishing between the two."

"Name me one elf, Harry, one elf that would do the right thing because it was the right thing to do, not simply because they were being treated horribly. Name one elf willing to go against their master's orders and suffer the punishment to do the right thing when they've never known any different."

"Dobby," said Harry simply. Hermione opened her mouth to respond but closed it just as quickly.

"Well, Dobby's not exactly what you'd call normal, mate," said Ron, breaking his silence, his eyes still on Kreacher. "We all know he's an odd one, even to other house-elves. He's the only one that wanted to be free."

"But isn't it exactly the same with Dobby as it is with Kreacher," she asked. "Can't you see it? Dobby was terribly mistreated by his masters. That's why he came to you, Harry. And he's loyal to you because you freed him from his terrible masters."

"That might be true now," said Harry. "I'm not disagreeing that Dobby is loyal to me because I freed him. But Dobby wasn't loyal to me when he came to warn me about the chamber. He'd never met me before. He came to protect me."

"Yes I know," said Hermione impatiently. "But he came because—"

"—Because it was the right thing to do," said Harry. "You're right that Dobby certainly had no love for the Malfoys. Dobby was clearly breaking an order when he came to warn me. He did it anyway. He punished himself severely for it." Harry recalled it as though it were yesterday. "When he told me why he had come, he said it was to protect me…said I was…that I was too great, too good, to lose…said he had to warn me even if he had to shut his ears in the oven door."

"Harry…"

"Listen," said Harry, continuing before Hermione could interrupt. He rose from the chair and began to pace in a small circle. "Dobby clearly recognized the difference between right and wrong. If you truly believe that elves should be treated equally to wizards—and I know you do—I even agree with you—then you have to look at Kreacher as you would a wizard or a witch. If Kreacher were a wizard, how would you look at him now?

"I—"

"It's like Pettigrew's excuse for betraying my parents to Voldemort because he was afraid, interestingly enough, how he'd be treated by Voldemort if he didn't betray them. I feel sorry for Kreacher, Hermione, I really do. In fact, I probably understand Kreacher better than you, better than Sirius or Dumbledore ever did." Hermione's eyes swam with fresh tears as she realized what Harry was trying to say.

"Kreacher and I lived in similar environments," said Harry as he turned his eyes upon Kreacher, who actually looked back at him with curiosity in his puffy eyes. "We were starved of affection, had a cupboard as a bedroom, and yes, treated like a slave, punished for the smallest misstep. But that doesn't excuse his actions any more than it pardons him of his part in Sirius' death; just like Dumbledore's desire to keep the truth from me for the sake of my happiness doesn't excuse him from his hand in Sirius' death. The same can be said of me. We all knew the difference, didn't we, Kreacher?" Kreacher's lip trembled.

"Kreacher knew what he was doing," said Kreacher slowly. "Kreacher did not like Master Sirius, just like Kreacher's poor Mistress did not like Master Sirius. Master Sirius was not kind to poor Kreacher…not like Master Regulus…Kreacher was not sad to see him gone."

"I can't pretend that he didn't betray Sirius any more than I can justify that his treatment in the past exonerates him from that choice," said Harry. "When this war is over, I'm going to set him free, and if he chooses, he can go to whomever he wishes to serve."

"He's never known anything but cruelty at the hand of wizards, Harry," said Hermione. "You can show him differently…help him to see the difference. Once he's free he'll go to the Malfoys and he'll suffer just like Dobby."

"It will be his choice," said Harry, looking at Kreacher. "But I can't keep him, Hermione. I can't pretend it never happened." He needed her to understand. He needed both of them to understand.

"No one's asking you too, mate," said Ron.

"It's exactly what you're asking me to do," said Harry, looking to both of them in turn. "How can I treat him kindly with this constantly in the back of my mind? Sirius was the only family I had, Ron. How would you treat him if it had been your dad in Sirius' place?"

"I—," said Ron, stuttering a moment. "When you put it that way…I guess I see your point." Hermione too looked startled as she appeared to consider the same thought.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she said staring at her feet. "I want to believe that I would be kind to Kreacher if our roles had been reversed. I don't know what it's like to lose my parents, not in the same way that you lost yours, the same way you lost Sirius, and when I think about it, the same way you lost Dumbledore. All of them were led to their death, betrayed by those they entrusted or where accepted into their circles. I'm just a foolish idealist."

"No, you're not," said Harry as he pulled her into a one-armed hug. "You're right about the treatment elves receive. And you're right about them needing their freedom. But freedom means they have a choice and they have to deal with the consequences of their choices. The only honestly kind thing I can do for Kreacher is to give him his freedom." Harry released Hermione and kneeled before Kreacher and the elf looked up to hold his gaze. His eyes were red-raw and stood out sorely from his pale-gray wrinkled skin.

"Kreacher, if you had a choice, if you could have another master besides me, would you?" Kreacher considered his master for a moment, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"Kreacher would prefer Mistress Cissy or Mistress Bella as a master, yes."

"I'll make a deal with you Kreacher," said Harry. "I will release you as my servant when Voldemort has been defeated provided you follow these rules until that day comes. First, you will never betray anyone in the Order of the Phoenix, myself, Hermione, or Ron, or anyone you know who opposes Voldemort. Finally, I want you to go and find Mundungus Fletcher and bring him here. Do you agree?"

"Master will set Kreacher free to serve the masters of his choice once the Dark Lord is defeated and Kreacher promises to not betray any who oppose the Dark Lord, and if Kreacher brings Master the sneak theif who stole his poor Mistress' things," repeated the elf.

"Yes," said Harry.

"Kreacher will do as Master requests."

"Kreacher, when Voldemort is defeated, I give you my permission to serve the masters of your choice. At that time, you will no longer be bound to me."

"Master must present Kreacher with clothes at such a time to be dismissed properly," said Kreacher. Harry had forgotten this requirement and panicked inwardly as he racked him brain.

"Kreacher, what if I ordered you to take a piece of clothing upon Voldemort's defeat? Would this be the same, or do I need to physically present you with clothes?" Kreacher's brow creased as the elf's eyes darted side to side as thought out the logic of the request.

"If Kreacher is ordered to take the clothes because his Master's intent is to free him, then no, Master does not need to present Kreacher with clothes himself."

"Right then," said Harry, relieved. "Kreacher, when Voldemort is defeated, I order you to take for yourself an article of clothing with the understanding that it is my intention to free you from my service and that you will be free to serve the master of your choice. Is this understood?"

"Kreacher understands," nodded the elf, truly happy. "Kreacher will do as Master says."

"Good," said Harry. He caught Hermione's glance and nodded. "Kreacher, when you are feeling up to it, would you please go and fetch Mundungus Fletcher and bring him here?"

"Kreacher will do as Master requests." And with a loud pop, the elf Disapparated.

"I think you're doing the right thing, Harry," she said with a smile. "Thank you for being kind to him." Harry nodded.

Then a loud grumbling sound came from Ron's stomach.

"Can we have breakfast now," he asked. For the first time in the last twenty four hours, the trio broke into unreserved laughter. Harry tended to the stove as Ron sat at the table absent-mindedly clicking the Deluminator while Hermione set the table and took a seat with a book propped open. All they could do now was wait for Kreacher to return.


	18. Where Werewolves Fear to Tread

**Alright, moving forward at last. You'll find this chapter condenses a lot of the information that Rowling spread out over a few chapters, but I hopefully brought a new side to it with how that information is brought to the trio. **

**You'll be happy to know I've been working on several chapters at the moment, so I can promise that you'll have at least two more chapters this month. Additionally, I am almost ready to publish the other story I have had on backlog. I've made the decision to begin a story during Harry's 3rd year. More on that later, but that story will go all the way from 3rd year to 7th year. It will be a big undertaking, but I'm very excited for it as well. **

**For those wondering about the delay, I've been busy at home with a very pregnant wife. Things are slowing down again so that only means more writing :)**

**As always, it all belongs to Rowling. **

Chapter Eighteen: Where Werewolves Fear to Tread

"Harry, relax; pacing around the living room isn't going to bring Kreacher back any sooner," said Hermione on the third evening since Kreacher had left, her eyes peering over the top of her book. She was currently sprawled over the length of the couch, her back propped up with several pillows and her legs bent in a soft angle with the book resting against the top of her thighs.

"I don't understand it," said Harry, slumping down into the chair beside her. "I just assumed that if he could escape a cave full of Inferi, tracking 'Dung down shouldn't be very difficult."

"We don't know where Fletcher is, Harry; finding him will take time," she said, closing her book. "And he'll need to be careful too. He can't just grab him in the middle of Diagon Alley, can he? Not with Death Eaters roaming about."

"I know, I know," said Harry with a deflated voice. "I'm just sick of being cooped up in here with no other leads. I need to be doing something."

"This was never going to be like our other adventures, you know; this one is going to take time."

"I hope Ron gets back soon," said Harry, his eyes darting to the hallway entry. "He's been gone for a couple hours."

"He'll be fine," said Hermione, "he Disapparated directly to the Burrow. He has the cloak, and you gave him the piece of parchment, right?" Harry nodded. The plan was to give the parchment containing the address of Grimmauld Place to Mr. Weasley so that he could follow Ron back from the Burrow and give an update on what was going on. It also gave them a contact to the rest of the Order.

"Then all we can do is wait," said Hermione. She then opened _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ again and started to read.

"Have you found anything from the book," asked Harry after a few minutes of silence. Hermione shook her head and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"No," she said disappointingly. "As far as I can tell, it's nothing but cautionary tales for children. _The Warlock's Hairy Heart_ has some semblance to Horcruxes; the warlock views the act of falling in love as a vulnerability, so he locks away his heart. But so far, that's the only thing I've found. I'm sure that Dumbledore gave this to me to help, but I don't know what I'm supposed to find."

"You'll figure it out," said Harry earnestly. "You always do." She smiled at him broadly before turning the page. As they sat there in silence, Harry couldn't help but observe Hermione as she read. Throughout their time at Hogwarts, she had always appeared most at ease when reading a book and it was no different now. It gave Harry a small portion of comfort to know at least one thing in her life hadn't been disrupted with all the turmoil. He watched as she once more brushed aside the stubborn strand of hair that obscured her vision and tucked it behind her ear. He watched her for several minutes and found his own unease slipping away and with it, the burdensome thoughts of Kreacher's whereabouts. He knew he shouldn't continue to stare like he did, but each attempt to avert his eyes elsewhere failed as they darted back to her face and her subtly moving lips.

"Harry, you're staring," said Hermione giving him a quick one-eyed glance. "Is there something on your mind?" Harry quickly averted his eyes to the floor and shook his head.

"Harry, I know when you're trying to avoid answering," she said, closing her book. She shifted on the couch into a sitting position, though her back still rested upon the arm of the couch.

"It's just, well, it's silly," said Harry, not sure what to say.

"Well, go on then," she encouragingly. "I'll judge whether or not it's silly."

"I guess, given everything that's happened—I'm just really glad some things haven't changed."

"What do you mean?"

"You for instance," he said, "laying on the couch with a book propped open and studying and…looking peaceful. For a moment it felt like I was in the Gryffindor Common Room. I'm just glad something in your life is still the same."

"Harry, that's not silly at all," she said while shuffling to the end of the couch nearest Harry. "It's actually quite sweet." He was surprised to see how radiant her smile was in that moment.

"I suppose," said Harry, shrugging. "I guess I was just feeling guilty knowing that you won't be Head Girl this year. No one deserves it more; seeing you just now at least made me feel like you hadn't lost everything and I feel guilty for being comforted by that."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Harry," she said, her smile fading a bit. "I plan to go back after this is all over, and don't think I won't be dragging you and Ron along with me."

"I'm not sure I could go back, Hermione," he said quietly. "Can you imagine what it would be like for me? I'd never have a moment of peace."

"I'll make sure you have peace," she said. "I couldn't go back without you, Harry. Promise me you'll come with me?" Harry felt his stomach twist. He already knew he'd break one promise before the end. He didn't want to make another.

"Can I at least think about it?"

"Yes," she responded with a slim but content smile. "But know that I won't take no for an answer."

"Fair enough," said Harry, glad for the reprieve but guilty all the same. It had never felt right to keep anything from her. Indeed, he started to understand Dumbledore more; how could he tell her that he had to die for Voldemort to be finished?

"Have you ever read these tales, Harry," she asked after a moment.

"I'm like you, Hermione; I was raised Muggle."

"It was rhetorical, Harry," she said, patting the seat cushion beside her. "Come on, we can read the next one together. Besides, maybe two of us might figure out just what Dumbledore wanted us to know." Harry doubted very much that he'd find anything Hermione hadn't, but he nodded and took a seat next to her. The book was small, leather-bound and well-worn. Hermione opened the book again, placing it between them.

"Which ones have you already read," he asked.

"I've read them all at least once," said Hermione as she quickly thumbed through several pages. "_Babbitty Rabbitty_, _the Hopping Pot, _and the _Fountain of Fair Fortune_, can all be ignored I think—none of them contain anything remotely useful other than simply being what they are; cautionary tales. _The Warlock's Hairy Heart_, as I just shared, has parallels to Voldemort and his Horcruxes, but the purpose of the story is that love is not vulnerability, but rather, it is the essence of humanity. Truthfully, it only leaves one story; _The Tale of the Three Brothers_." Harry caught her tone at the end of her summary.

"Sounds like you think the last story is a bit more outlandish than the others," said Harry.

"It's the sort of thing that Luna or her father would believe is based on fact," she said. "And yet, like the Warlock's tale, it's ultimately about outsmarting death, which I can't deny has the same similar parallel to Voldemort's goal."

"Well, let's take a look at it," said Harry. Hermione read the tale aloud as Harry followed along. Once or twice he found his attention waver momentarily as his eyes would shift from the words on the page to the soft skin of Hermione's hands when she would flip a page. He also found himself taking short glances at her face, some of which was obscured beneath the same stubborn strand of hair that Hermione appeared to perpetually tuck behind her ear without thought. Most notable was the returning sense of comfort.

"Well," said Hermione, finishing the story. "What do you think?"

"Hard to imagine that those sorts of magical items could exist," said Harry. "An unbeatable wand? Can't say I wouldn't object to having one..."

"I've never been so perplexed in my life, Harry," she said shutting the book. "Just what does Dumbledore want us to know?"

"It might not be obvious until the time is right," said Harry. "He said the same thing to me about the Snitch."

"Why couldn't he just tell you, Harry?"

"I dunno," he said, shaking his head. If he was honest with himself, he too was frustrated by the lack of direction the headmaster had given. "We honestly ran out of time in the memory, but Dumbledore's always been like that—it's the teacher in him—he always wanted me to figure out the big things on my own."

"Harry, this isn't a classroom assignment—this is your life—our life at stake. We don't get this right…"

"I know," he said. "We will—that's why you're here; you've never let me down before. You'll make sure we get it—"

Harry didn't finish his sentence though as a sharp pain erupted from within his forehead. He reached up instinctively, his hand pressing on his scar as he held his eyes tightly shut.

"Gregorovitch," he said, looking down at the terrorized woman. She began to speak rapidly in her native German tongue. He had no time for such nonsense.

"I want Gregorovitch." The woman cried and shook her head.

"I know him not," she pleaded. "He no live here!"

He drew his wand.

"Do not lie to Lord Voldemort; where is he?"

"I know not, I know not!"

He raised his wand and pointed to the pitiful sight before him.

"It is unwise to test Lord Voldemort's patience. Answer me and you shall receive mercy; where is Gregorovitch?" He watched as two young children came running in to the hall. He felt excitement flood his veins as he eyed each of the children. The mother ran between them, her arms outstretched in the attempt to shield them. He uttered the incantation and there was a flash of green light—

"Harry!"

Harry opened his eyes; Hermione's face looked down upon him, inches from his own. Glancing quickly he found she had wrapped him in her arms as his head rested where she had been seated moments ago. As the room came back into focus, he discovered they were no longer alone. Ron stood at the back of the couch overlooking both he and Hermione. Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin stood nearby, both gripping the backs of chairs behind Hermione. They both carried worried looks.

"What did you see, Harry," she asked.

"It was nothing," said Harry, quickly.

"Don't you dare," she said. "I know you saw something. Was he trying to get in again?"

"No," said Harry in a defeated tone. "It was different this time—it was passive. It didn't happen at all last year and I don't understand why it's happening now."

"You need to close your mind, Harry," she said. He could see the worry in her eyes.

"I don't know how, Hermione," said Harry. "I didn't exactly have a good teacher."

"I'm sure you can find a book on Occlumency here in the library," said Remus. "Still, I thought Dumbledore believed that the Dark Lord would not try to gain access to Harry's mind again after the events within the Department of Mysteries."

"We can't take that chance," said Hermione. Harry nodded and gave his quiet thanks before sitting up again.

"I wasn't expecting you, Remus," said Harry.

"Disappointed," he asked.

"No," said Harry quickly. "I'm more curious as to why you referred to him as the 'Dark Lord' and not—"

"No," shouted Remus. "Don't say the name—I'm sure it's okay here since the house in under the Fidelius, but you need to break that habit."

"But why," asked Harry

"The name has been jinxed," said Arthur. "Ministry has put a trace on it—under You-Know-Who's orders most likely. They can instantly track anyone who uses that name." Harry and Hermione gave each other a knowing glance.

"So that's how they followed us," said Hermione. "And that's probably why there are Death Eaters outside—they know someone in the area is using his name, but because of the Fidelius Charm, they can't find us."

"You were followed," asked Remus.

"Yeah, the night of the attack," said Ron. "We were waiting out Harry's potion in a diner when two Death Eaters—Rowle and Dolohov—followed us in. If Harry hadn't noticed their wands they very well might have got us before we could react."

"Makes sense," said Hermione. "What better way to find Order Members or those who stand against him. We are the ones most likely to use the name."

"Precisely," said Arthur. Harry turned to Ron.

"Why'd it take so long to return?"

"We had to be careful as we've been watched continuously," said Arthur. "There's also a pair of Death Eaters nearby—new recruits judging by how poorly they conceal themselves. We took the liberty of placing them under a Confundus Charm and sent them on their way."

"One less thing to worry about, thank you," said Harry.

"You still haven't answered my question, Harry," interrupted Hermione, her eyes squinting suspiciously.

"I didn't see much," admitted Harry. "He's not in the country, though. He was with a woman who spoke German, I think. He kept asking for Gregorovitch. She didn't know where he was…there were children too…" No one needed Harry to finish.

"So he's after wand makers," said Remus breaking the silence.

"Why's You-Know-Who after a wand maker," asked Ron. "Didn't they already capture Ollivander?"

"We don't know for certain he's been captured," said Remus. "But he's been gone for considerable time now."

"It's because our wands are brothers," said Harry. "He borrowed Malfoy's the night we left the Dursley's. It didn't work for him, so maybe he's looking to have Ollivander or Gregorovitch to make him a new one."

"Your wands are brothers," asked Remus, giving his first curious glance of the evening.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Ollivander told me when it chose me. We share feathers from the same Phoenix—Fawkes specifically—Dumbledore told me."

"I see," said Remus. "They don't work properly when their owners confront each other, is that correct?"

"That's how Dumbledore explained it."

"We'll put the Order on lookout for the other well-known wand makers then," said Arthur. "Anonymous tip, of course," he added giving Harry a quick wink.

"So what's been happening," asked Harry, looking between Arthur and Remus.

"Well, I won't lie to you that if it hadn't been for Kingsley's warning, we'd have fared much worse after you three left," said Remus. "Mixture of Death Eaters and Ministry people, but for all intents and purposes they're the same thing now."

"And Scrimgeour," asked Harry, not too sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Gone," said Arthur sadly, "tortured considerably by the sounds of it before the deed was done. If the rumors are true, You-Know-Who saw to it personally. He was looking for your whereabouts, Harry, and if that's the case, he didn't give you away."

Harry could never pretend that he liked Scrimgeour. Still, he felt a wave of gratitude to the now deceased Minister. In the end, he was an Auror to the core.

"We were questioned for hours," Arthur continued. "Nothing surprising, mind you; they were very obvious who they were looking for." Arthur's eyes met Harry's.

"But surely they couldn't have been that direct, even if You-Know-Who's got people in the top positions at the ministry," said Hermione. "I mean, wouldn't they find that behavior unusual at the least?"

"Ah, well," said Remus, pulling out a folded copy of the _Daily Prophet_. He hesitated for a moment, and then handed it to Harry. "This is why most people aren't questioning it."

Harry shook the paper open and immediately caught the headline. A large photograph featuring himself filled the paper with flashing words over it:

**WANTED FOR QUESTIONING: SUSPECT IN THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

Harry felt his stomach drop as he sunk into the couch further. He dropped the paper onto the living room table. Hermione sat down beside him as she briefly placed a hand over his before reaching the paper and reading.

"This is outrageous," said Hermione, tossing the paper to the side. "How stupid and gullible are people? _With a known history of fabricating stories for personal attention, combined with an unstable mental state from several tragic life events brings into question the accuracy of his statements regarding the celebrated Headmaster's death…We at the Daily Prophet believe such testimony should be considered cautiously by our readers… _wasn't Harry and Dumbledore vindicated already? Does the wizarding populace have that short of memories? Harry loved Dumbledore…"

"It's mental," said Ron, shaking his head.

"We know, Hermione," said Arthur. "The transition has been smooth and near silent. Most are not even aware that the ministry has been infiltrated and completely taken over from within."

"That's right," said Remus. "As far as the public is aware, Rufus handed in his silent resignation and was replaced by Pius Thicknesse. We first suspected Imperius Curse, but we now have information to suggest he's acting completely on his own."

"Even so, it's not gone as smooth as He would like it to be," continued Remus. "There are whispers among many both within and outside the Ministry, but it doesn't matter; the point is they only whisper. They are too afraid to be open and defiant because they don't know who to trust. You-Know-Who didn't make it this far last time. And we know why that is."

"Dumbledore," said Harry, his voice barely audible and still feeling quick sick to his stomach.

"It's brilliant in its simplicity," said Arthur. "They pin the blame on you—the Boy-Who-Lived—the obvious symbol and rallying point for any resistance in the absence of Dumbledore. He's effectively sown doubt and fear into many who would have defended you."

"And it gets worse, I'm afraid," said Remus, pointing to the heavily abused paper beside Hermione. "Page two." Hermione reached for the paper again and turned the page. After a few moments of watching her eyes dart back and forth while shrinking into a distasteful glare, Harry was sure the news wouldn't be good.

"_In a bold move, the Ministry seeks to understand how 'Muggle-borns' have attained their magical abilities. Research from within the Department of Mysteries reveals magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. It is therefore theorized that where no proven Wizarding ancestry is present, Muggle-borns are likely to have obtained their magical abilities by theft or force. The exact method of how this phenomenon is achieved is still under much research." _Hermione scowled as she turned the page once more with a furious flick, tearing a portion of the page. "_The Ministry extends an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for evaluation by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission." _The group fell into momentary silent.

"This can't be happening," said Ron. "I mean, how are they supposed to have stolen magic? It's completely mental; if you could steal magic, why wouldn't Squibs do the same?"

"It is happening, Ron," said Arthur. "I've watched them come into the Ministry. It isn't a pretty sight." Ron looked over at Hermione.

"Dad, what if we were to swear Hermione's part of our family? I'll tell everyone Hermione's my cousin—"

"Thank you, Ron, but there isn't any point, is there?"

"It'll be easy," continued Ron, undeterred. "I'll teach you my family tree so you can answer anything anyone asks you."

"Ron, you're forgetting something very important," said Hermione.

"What?"

"You two are well-known friends of Harry Potter," said Remus with a slight smile. "Even if the commission where to believe Hermione was part of your family, it wouldn't do any good. They aren't interested in preserving Muggle-borns. It's just a public rallying piece to turn against them. And it's working; Muggle-borns are being turned in at an alarming rate."

"And as Remus pointed out," interjected Arthur, "Hermione, as well as yourself, are well-known friends to Harry. Anyone associated to Harry will not receive any mercy under this regime. And don't forget, you're at home, recovering from Spattergroit."

"What about Hogwarts," asked Hermione. "I assume since the Ministry is under his control, I take it so is the castle?"

"Hogwarts is now compulsory attendance, but only those who have had their blood status confirmed are allowed to attend," acknowledged Remus with a nod. "That's never happened before as far as I'm aware; Hogwarts has always been optional. Parents were allowed to send their children to another school or instruct at home."

"So not only will the Muggle-borns be weeded out of magical society, but Hogwarts will be used to further substantiate the claim of pureblood supremacy," said Hermione, clearly disgusted.

"That's exactly what he's doing," agreed Arthur. "I'm glad I only have one child going to Hogwarts this year; I'd keep her home but it would actually be more dangerous to do so. I take some comfort in knowing she's in Gryffindor where McGonagall will look after her and the others."

"Isn't she the Headmaster now," asked Harry.

"Afraid not," said Arthur sadly. "Severus Snape has been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Bloody hell," shouted Ron. "They put _him_ in charge of the school? Dad it's not safe for Ginny to go there!"

"It's not safe anywhere, Ron," said Arthur. "But it's safer for her to be at the school than it would be to keep her home. I would come under severe scrutiny at the Ministry, lose my job, and probably worse. I don't like it any more than you do, but I can do more good within the Ministry than outside it. Ginny is as protected as we can hope for, given how things are shaping up to be."

"Which brings us to the reason of my tagging along," said Remus. "Harry, as the Order understands it, you, Ron, and Hermione, are on a mission for Dumbledore. Is that right?"

"Yes, it is," said Harry, cautiously. "I can't tell you what it is though, I'm sorry."

"I figured as much," said Remus, looking thoroughly put-out. "Would you consider letting me accompany you three? I wouldn't need to know the details."

"You don't know how tempting the offer is, Remus," said Harry, glancing to the hopeful looks of Ron and the surprisingly suspicious look Hermione was giving Remus. "But I don't see any way of you remaining ignorant of our quest if you tag along." Hermione's scrutiny became obvious when she spoke next.

"What about Tonks?"

"I've discussed it with her," said Remus, looking uneasy. "She'll be safe at her parent's place, and she doesn't particularly like it, but she also understands my desire to do what I can to help you." He looked at Harry with a haunted expression.

"I failed your parents once, Harry," he said somberly. "I failed you too. I failed you and Sirius the night Peter escaped; you lost your one chance to live in a home that should never have been denied to you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Remus, I really do," said Harry, picking up suddenly on Hermione's suspicion. "But why is Tonks hiding at her parent's place? You two are married. And she's an Order member; she's not one to go into hiding willingly." Remus turned white for a moment before taking a deep breath and continued speaking.

"Tonks is in hiding," he said, his voice low and almost hollow, "because she is pregnant."

"That's wonderful news," said Hermione.

"Congratulations," said Harry.

"Alright," said Ron, clapping him on the back. "A baby cub; well done." The remaining color in Remus' face drained. Arthur dropped his head to hands. Ron realized what he'd done and immediately began to apologize.

"Remus, I didn't mean—"

"It's, it's alright," he said, waving Ron away. "Won't know until the baby is born, but…"

"Is everything, alright, between you and Tonks," asked Hermione tepidly.

"Yes, things are fine between Tonks and me," said Remus, heavily, "but, I never should have married Tonks. I went against my better judgement. I've put her and her family in danger, and now, the child…I'm sure the child will be just like me."

"But you love her, don't you," asked Hermione.

"That's irrelevant," he said. "You three don't understand. You've only ever seen me at Hogwarts, or within the Order; outside, in the real world, I'm a monster. They try to hide it, Tonks' parents, but I can see it when they let their guard down. No parent wants their daughter wed to a full-fledged beast. I've made her, and now a child, an outcast to our society. It is the most irresponsible thing I have ever done, and trust me; I've done plenty of irresponsible things in my lifetime to know this takes the prize."

"Remus," said Harry, "I can't pretend to know how difficult it's been for you, but I think you're forgetting something, something deep down inside you know to be right, but refuse to believe it." Remus opened his mouth to interject, but Harry held his hand up.

"Dumbledore once said that a time would come when we would all have to choose between doing what is right, and what is easy. I know in your mind with all you've experienced tells you the right thing to do is separate yourself from Tonks, but it's actually the easy route. Say you come with us; what happens if you die?"

"Harry, in all likelihood that fate awaits us all in this war" said Remus wearily, as though he'd heard this argument several times before.

"Yeah, but you're only thinking about what happens to you," said Harry. "What happens to Tonks? What happens to your child? What happens when they ask about their dad? What will people tell them?"

"Harry," began Remus, his face grimacing, but Harry did not relent.

"What good is fighting and winning this war against pureblood supremacy if people like you aren't accepted," asked Harry, anger rising in his voice for the first time. "This is your chance to prove that Werewolves can live normal, healthy, happy lives within society. You want to find something worth fighting for? It is right in front of you, Remus, and I think Sirius and my dad would have told you the same thing. More importantly, it is what Tonks would like to have, isn't it?"

Remus stared at Harry, his eyes watering. Harry chose his next words carefully.

"I know you're no coward, Remus; but pulling yourself away from Tonks and your unborn child to chase us halfway around the country isn't exactly Gryffindor, is it?"

"You're right," he said, his voice catching as he hastily rubbed his eyes. "You're absolutely right; I'm being foolish. I've spent so much of my life as an outcast to our society that I can hardly imagine things getting better, but that's exactly what we're fighting for."

Hermione beamed at Harry.

"None-the-less," continued Remus, his spirits visibly lifted, "what of you three? Is there truly no room in this operation for me or Arthur to help?"

"I'm sorry, Remus," said Harry, shaking his head. "If Dumbledore didn't tell you what we're doing, then I don't think I can either. I know the decision is ultimately mine now, but I trust Dumbledore's wisdom that what we're doing has to be kept between us. Failure isn't an option. We don't get this right, we lose—"

The sudden loud pop of Kreacher Apparating onto the living room table disrupted them. More astounding, however, was the balled-up heap of clothing on the floor.

"Get yer hands off'a me, ya bleedin' 'ouse-elf," barked Mundungus. His clothes were in shambles and smelled strongly of Firewhiskey.

"Harry, what's going on," asked Remus, looking from the triumphant Kreacher to the very harassed Mundungus.

"Mundungus has some explaining to do," said Harry simply, with a smile, his wand already pointing at the thief's chest.

"I bloody panicked, alright," pleaded 'Dung, his hands held in front of his face while Kreacher held him in an invisible restraint. "I never wanted to be a part o' the mission."

"I didn't bring you here to talk about Mad-Eye, 'Dung," said Harry. "We have something more important to discuss."


	19. Inside Help

**Hello all - short chapter this update, but fear not, another chapter is soon on the way. I should have it ready by Saturday. **

**As always, it isn't mine, it's JKR's. **

**Chapter Nineteen: Inside Help**

"Kreacher has the thief's wand, if Master would like it," said the aged elf, presenting the stubby wand to Harry. Harry took it and set it upon the kitchen table.

"Bloody elf," bellowed Mundungus as he swung drunkenly at Kreacher, "taking a wizard's wand. You've no right."

"You're one to talk, 'Dung," said Harry, pointing his wand at Mundungus. The thief fell quiet as he eyed the wand. He glanced to Arthur and Remus and realized they weren't in any hurry to bail him out of his current predicament, but rather observed the whole scene with mild amusement. Seeing no other means of escape, 'Dung's shoulders dropped and no longer resisted the elf's restraints.

"Wha've I done, then, eh," asked Mundungus. "Why've you sent a bleedin' 'ouse-elf after me?"

"Kreacher would have captured the sneak thief sooner, Master, but he is very skilled at hiding in shadows." Harry gave the elf a courteous bow; he still didn't like Kreacher, but he had come through for him when it mattered.

"You did brilliantly, Kreacher, thank you," said Harry. Clearly not used to gratitude, the elf returned a subdued bow. Harry then turned to Mundungus once more. "We have questions for you, 'Dung and you'd best answer them truthfully."

"Look," he said, his whisky-rich and tobacco breathe more prominent than ever, "I panicked tha' night. I ne'er wanted to come along but Mad-Eye made me. I didn' sign up to die for you, 'specially not by bleedin' You-Know-Who flyin' in the air."

"You're a coward 'Dung, we all know that," said Harry, his eyes flashing. "Like I said, I didn't have you brought here to ask about why you left Mad-Eye to die." He didn't bother leaving out the disgust in his voice. Mundungus shrunk back slightly, appearing surprised by Harry's tone as well.

"Is this about them goblets again? I ain't got any of 'em left, or I'd give 'em to you, honest—"

"Getting warmer," said Harry, bringing his wand an inch from 'Dung's forehead while grabbing the back of a chair with his free hand. He took his seat, inches from Mundungus and got eye level with the thief.

"When you cleaned out this house of anything you thought valuable, and don't deny it," added Harry, his wand now prodding 'Dung's forehead as the thief attempted to interrupt, "when you stripped this house clean, you nicked things from the kitchen cupboard. Am I right?"

"Sirius didn't care about any of tha' junk—"

WHACK

Kreacher struck quicker than anyone had been able to react as he brought a copper plated pan to the back of "dung's head.

"Call 'im off, would ya, bleedin' monster," howled Mundungus, his hands cupping the back of his balding head.

"Kreacher, I need him," said Harry quickly. The elf at first gave him a loathing look but appeared to remember his agreement with Harry and then gave a mischievous smile.

"Kreacher is sorry, Master, but Kreacher only hoped to help jog the thief's memory. Perhaps another would cure the thief of his hangover?" Ron struggled to contain his laugh but failed horribly, his laugh coming on as a set of stifled and disjointed snorts to which Hermione gave him a look of deep disapproval.

"Not now, Kreacher, but if he decides not to cooperate, you can remind him what's at stake."

"Kreacher would like that very much," said the elf with great hunger in his eyes.

"Well, 'Dung, did you?"

"Yeah, I nicked stuff from there, why do ya care anyway?" 'Dung immediately tried to back pedal upon seeing Harry's eyes flash. "Sorry, sorry, I didn' mean—"

"Remembered it was my Godfather you stole from, do you," asked Harry coldly. "You're right; I didn't care about the value of anything in this house. That doesn't mean you had any right to take anything."

"I didn't see the harm in takin' it," said 'Dung earnestly. "Sirius bein' dead an' all, he wouldn't have any use for it anymore." This was the wrong thing to say. Harry bolted from his chair as he brought his wand forcibly to 'Dung's cheek bone and pressed hard. Remus stepped forward this time.

"Harry, take it easy," he said. "You won't get what you're looking for hurting him."

"So it's alright with you then, so long as he's dead," repeated Harry, not once looking at Remus. "Did you try nicking stuff from Dumbledore's study too?"

"Can't bloody well 'ave done tha', could I?" Harry pressed further into his cheek bone. Remus grabbed Harry's wrist warningly. Harry pulled away and Mundungus relaxed. Harry set his wand upon the table not far from Mundungus'. Then, without warning, Harry curled his hand into a tight fist and hit 'Dung squarely where his wand had been moments before. Mundungus was flung from the chair and landed with a loud thud onto the kitchen floor.

"Harry," shouted Remus, grabbing his once young charge before he could launch himself at the crumpled man sprawled across the floor. "You need to calm down. This is not the way." Harry stopped struggling and Remus let go. Harry took his wand and knelt down on the floor beside 'Dung and pointed it directly over his chest.

"There was a silver locket, with a green face and an ornate 's'; what did you do with it?"

"What would ya want with a locket," asked 'Dung bewildered and with a wheezing voice. The air had been knocked clean from him.

"None of your business, is it?"

"Is it valuable?"

"You've still got it," said Hermione, hopeful.

"Not bloody likely," said Ron. "He's just hoping it didn't sell it cheap."

"Bleedin' gave it away, didn' I," said 'Dung, his voice recovering. "I was lucky not to 'ave any trouble for havin' it in the first place."

"Explain," said Harry, nervous for the first time. 'Dung was their only lead.

"I was sellin' in Diagon Alley, like always," said 'Dung, speaking quickly, "can't sell in Knocturn now-a-days, see—ever'body knows I was workin' for Dumbledore now, after You-Know-Who sees me on that broom with Mad-Eye—and then she came up to me, high an' mighty like an' asks me if I got a license for sellin' magical artifacts. Bleedin' snoop," he added. "She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an' told me she'd take it and let me off this time around. Won't ever forget tha' voice."

"Who, 'Dung," asked Harry pointedly.

"I dunno, do I," said Mundungus, grunting as moved his back and made to sit up, "some Ministry hag, she was." He rubbed his temple vigorously, then said: "Pretty short, now tha' I recall, dressed in all pink with a bow and kinda reminded me of a toad I used to have as a student. But her voice was worse—sounded like poison'd honey, it did. She was polite but she didn' mean a word o' what she said."

"No, not her," said Harry, shaking his head. He looked up and found his own surprise and fear reflected in Ron's and Hermione's faces. Harry subconsciously found the scars on the back of his right hand.

"Kreacher, take this filth from the house—I don't care where you leave him, just make sure no one's around when you do," said Harry, addressing the elf.

"Yes, Master, Kreacher would be delighted." And before Mundungus could react, Kreacher had gathered 'Dung's wand and Apparated the both of them from the house.

"You were quite rough with 'Dung," said Remus, his voice carrying a bite of disappointment. "Dumbledore would not have approved, and nor do I."

"I know," said Harry. "But I'm not Dumbledore." He looked at both Remus and Arthur. "More importantly, Dumbledore was human, just like me; he had his faults and I have mine. Dumbledore was like a grandfather to me, but he trusted too easily and gave people more chances than they deserved and ultimately paid the price for it, just like I'm impatient and hot-headed. Like Dumbledore, I and other people have paid the price for it. Thankfully, I have Ron and Hermione to keep me in check. I know I was rough, but the stakes are too high to beat around the bush with people like 'Dung who only care about saving their own skins. And he reminds me of Pettigrew on top of it all—a bloody coward."

"Harry," said Hermione, giving him a warning look, but unlike Remus, she also carried understanding in her eyes.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "This just got a whole lot more difficult." He looked from Ron to Hermione. "You realize we'll have to sneak inside the Ministry to get it back."

"Into the Ministry," exclaimed Arthur, truly looking worried. "You can't go in there; you're as good as dead if you're found, Harry."

"Don't have any choice," said Harry. "We need that locket."

"Harry," said Remus, looking quite inquisitive, "does this locket have something to do with the task Dumbledore gave you?" Harry nodded.

"We have to get it back."

"What was this locket doing here in the first place," asked Arthur. "If it was so important, why was it thrown out?"

"I can't go into details," said Harry, "but suffice it to say that Regulus was not the Death Eater Sirius believed him to be; not entirely. Regarding the locket, well, it's more than it appears to be."

"What," asked Remus and Arthur simultaneously.

"Kreacher told us about the locket," continued Harry. "He told us about Regulus—how he joined, and how he turned against Vol—sorry—against Tom, and it cost him his life."

"I never would have believed it," said Remus softly, slumping down into a chair.

"Harry," said Hermione taking a seat and motioning for him to do so as well. Once he and Ron sat down, she continued. "Harry, you realize getting inside the Ministry won't be easy. We can't go as ourselves, and one Invisibility Cloak is not enough for all three of us to hide underneath anymore."

"The cloak wouldn't work once you crossed Ministry threshold," said Arthur wearily. "Not now, anyway." Arthur sported a distant expression now. "Nor will Disillusionment Charms." He looked to Harry, though his gaze looked past him. "I know you'll hate to hear this, but you need our help, son."

"What you need," said Remus, "is a way to conceal your identity that isn't detectible by magical means, particularly by the wards, which are immensely powerful. Only Hogwarts can boast as having more powerful wards."

"Polyjuice Potion, then," said Hermione. "That takes a month to brew."

"We don't have that kind of time," said Harry irritably.

"The Order has plenty of Polyjuice," said Remus, nodding his agreement. "Mad-Eye had quite the stockpile."

"Harry, who has the locket," asked Arthur.

"Doloris Umbridge," said Harry, his voice surprisingly hollow.

"Oh dear," he said. "This really is about to get complicated."

"Why," asked Hermione.

"Because Umbridge is a high ranking ministry official and she's the Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission," said Arthur. "The campaign is her design."

"Which means at least one of you will need to be disguised as someone within her department," observed Remus. "Or even the DMLE."

"Mafalda Hopkirk," said Arthur immediately. "She's present at every Muggle-born hearing as the courtroom clerk. Hermione has the best chance of pulling that off convincingly. I can get a sample of her hair easily enough. Let's see…" Mr. Weasley began pacing the kitchen as he counted names on his fingers.

"Runcorn," said Arthur, one finger pressed against another all while conversing with himself. "Yes, that might work; with a proper cover story…he has enough clearance to not rouse any suspicion…so long as we're careful. Now, finally, hmm…" Arthur continued to pace for several more minutes and the kitchen fell into silence.

"Got it," said Arthur, finally, looking triumphant. "We'll get one of the Magical Maintenance members…we'll have to get that one last though…they're more likely to have someone in their family brought for questioning, so it'll need to be someone already cleared."

"Er, Arthur," said Remus, sporting a small grin, " would you mind filling us in?"

"Yes, of course, sorry," said Arthur, sitting down again. "I can get you into the Ministry, and all three of you into the courtroom with Dolores, provided all goes well. And, this way, myself and Kingsley can help if something goes awry."

"Mr. Weasley, I can't thank you enough."

"Arthur, Harry," he said, beaming. "It's Arthur.


	20. Undesirable Number One

**Author's Note:** Firstly, humble apologies for the delay in this chapter. It was very nearly ready for publication on Sunday when I realized I created an eventual plot hole in this chapter that would come back to haunt me at the end of the story – can't have those.

Secondly, you'll notice that Mr. Weasley has a particular talent with Transfiguration, and the reason for that is as follows: I would image that someone like Arthur who heads the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office would need to be well versed in two particular areas: Transfiguration and Charms/Enchantments. He successfully charms a car to fly and turn invisible for a period of time, restores Sirius' motorbike with enhancements, and would face nastily charmed and/or transfigured muggle artifacts for the purpose of harm to Muggles in general. I'm not saying Dumbledore level of Transfiguration, but certainly very competent. He was able to effortlessly conjure several chairs for his family when they came to visit him in St. Mungos, which is an advanced form of Transfiguration. Remember, too, it's Mrs. Weasley who tells us in GOF that the only reason Arthur didn't excel at the Ministry is due to his fondness for Muggles. That leaves us to believe that talent wise, Arthur is a skilled wizard. And of course, let's not forget he raised Fred and George Weasley, who are actually very talented, just not academically.

Lastly, as per ritual, none of this is mine. Hope you enjoy.

**Chapter Twenty: Undesirable Number One**

It was well over a week before Mr. Weasley and Remus returned to Number Twelve. It had been a difficult wait for the trio; Harry, his impatience getting the better of him, had taken to Dumbledore's habit of pacing the same room in small lengths. If one looked closely enough, they would see the clear indication of frequent foot traffic, even though Kreacher had taken to cleaning the house with new fervor. This of course, did nothing for Harry's mood, as Hermione had unabashedly made the observation that Kreacher's whole behavior had changed overnight.

As all they could do was to wait patiently for Mr. Weasley, Hermione turned her attention back to the many books she had brought along, as well as raided the Black Library. She took copious amounts of notes, ranging from new protective and concealment charms, to basic survival spells in the event they were forced to vacate Number Twelve for any length of time.

Ron found his own way to cope with the down time; he had delegated himself to the task of managing Kreacher, which Harry was only too happy to let him do. As a result, Number Twelve had been transformed into a livable and comfortable residence. Under Ron's direction, Kreacher relocated the severed House-Elf wall mounts into Regulus' bedroom, which had become Kreacher's new room. Kreacher had also managed to remove the screaming portrait of Sirius' mother as well. Most notable, and true to Ron's greatest passion, was the significant improvement to the menu. Kreacher now prepared meals comparable to Hogwarts, though on a much smaller scale. When Mr. Weasley and Remus returned to Number Twelve, it was to a completely different house.

"Alright, here's the plan," said Mr. Weasley, taking a seat at the head of the kitchen table. "Hermione, you'll be going as Mafilda Hopkirk," he said, handing her a small pouch that contained her hair samples. "Ordinarily, she only works in the Improper Use of Magic Office, but as our luck turns out, she's also fulfilling the role of clerk for all the Muggle-born hearings. As you're naturally studious, you should go unnoticed. However, we need to be careful; you're name appeared on a Ministry list, as well as in the Prophet, being one of several Muggle-borns that failed to present themselves for interrogation. Now, this shouldn't be an issue as long as you take extra potion with you in the likely event this takes longer than an hour."

"What happens if you fail to present yourself," asked Hermione.

"If you submit willingly, and it's found you can't show any magical relation, it's a life-long sentence to Azkaban," said Mr. Weasley gravely. He took a deep steadying breath. "But if you are brought in under force, a Dementor's Kiss is administered on site." A collective shiver passed through the kitchen.

"And if things truly go awry, Kingsley, myself, and a few disguised Order members will be more than ready to get you out safely." Hermione could only nod a response but Harry was now feeling sickly. Mr. Weasley then handed Harry and Ron their pouches.

"Harry, you'll be impersonating Albert Runcorn; he works under Umbridge and actively investigates the claims of suspected Muggle-borns. Last week he discovered that Dirk Cresswell forged his family tree. He's in Azkaban now, but I heard rumor they're considering making a public example of him." Mr. Weasley fell silent for a moment before he continued.

"Ron, you'll be Bernie Pillsworth—works in the Magical Maintenance Department—he was cleared a week ago, so we shouldn't arose any suspicions. Remus, you have the Polyjuice?"

"I brought half the stock," he said, setting down several single-dose vials. "Now, you three all have the wand holsters Tonks got you, right?" The three nodded.

"Excellent; they should have a small pouch where you can store an extra vial."

"Alright," said Mr. Weasley, leaning in, "here's the plan…"

**() () ()**

"Here are your tokens," said Mr. Weasley the next morning in the deserted alleyway. He handed each of them a small golden coin embossed with the letters M.O.M. "Remus and I have already sent the real Hopkirk, Runcorn, and Pillsworth home. They also believe they called in sick, so they won't be none-the-wiser come tomorrow morning."

"Brilliant," said Ron.

"Yes, well, it's a bit early to be celebrating," said Arthur. "Now, take your potions, and I'll transfigure your robes. Harry, you have your dueling robes and Invisibility Cloak, right?"

Harry nodded before tossing his hair sample into his first potion vial. Grimacing at the putrid black goo his potion had turned too, he plugged his nose and drank the only mouthful he could manage. In a few minutes time, he, Hermione, and Ron had all transformed into their Ministry personalities.

"Let's see," said Mr. Weasley, standing first in front of Hermione, "you need Mafalda's spectacles." He flicked his wand and transfigured a set of empty glass frames from his shirt pocket into a pair of petite, thin-framed glasses. He gave another flick and her robes transformed into the typical Ministry Purple that Mafalda often wore. Harry gave Hermione a brief smile.

"I always wondered what Mafalda looked like," said Harry. "We've corresponded several times, though it was always a bit one-sided." Mafalda Hopkirk was an older woman with streaks of emerging gray hair among the youthful blonde that remained.

"Charming," said Hermione.

"Ron, you next," said Mr. Weasley. He quickly transfigured Ron's robes into the official Ministry Blue of the Maintenance Department. Bernie Pillsworth was much older than Mafalda; he was a bit round in the mid-region with white glistening hair—some of it receding far past the top of his head. When Ron nervously smiled, Harry took notice of Bernie's slim sinister smile, revealing only the top row of his teeth while his upper lip curled slightly at the edges toward his dimples.

"And finally, Harry," said Mr. Weasley, waving his wand a fourth time, transfiguring Harry's robes into a black leather trench coat.

"Alright, now, let's go over a few things again before we head into the Ministry," said Mr. Weasley. "The hearings for the Muggle-born Commission all take place in the Wizengamot Chambers, which are located on level ten. We'll be arriving in the Atrium, level eight. Now, Mafalda checks in every morning with her department, which is on level two. Once you've checked in, Hermione, simply head back down to level ten."

"Right," she said nervously.

"Don't worry; Dedalus will be discreetly tailing you—disguised, of course—he'll push you in the right direction if nothing else." He turned to Ron next.

"Ron, you can follow me without any suspicion – Magical Maintenance has a breakroom on level three, but there's no reason for you to go there. If anyone appears to be nosy, I'll simply strike up a maintenance request with you."

"Got it," said Ron.

"Harry, you're a bit trickier," said Mr. Weasley. "Runcorn works directly under Umbridge, so you'll be lifting all the way up to level One. You need to be careful; I can't go up there without arousing suspicion. Kingsley will be keeping a lookout and join you on the lift at level two on your way back down to the courtroom. I believe the first hearing is scheduled for ten this morning; Mary Cattermole is up for questioning if I remember the report correctly. This is important for you Ron, just in case we come into contact with Reggie, her husband. He works in Magical Maintenance. As far as I'm aware, they're friendly, but even so, try to limit your conversation if it comes up. And finally, most importantly, don't give ourselves away by sharing glances or any physical contact—none of the folks you're impersonating get along well enough to be that comfortable. Now, follow me, and remember to place your tokens into the slot on the door."

Together, they stepped out onto the crowded pavement, joining several oddly dressed people who were all heading in the same direction. Soon, they came to two sets of stairs with spiked black railings, each labeled: gentlemen and ladies respectably. Hermione broke away from them as she descended her flight of stairs, while Harry and Ron followed a small distance behind Arthur.

"Morning, Bernie," called out a wizard in the same navy blue robes Ron was wearing. The stranger deposited his coin. "I sure do miss the old way—who do they expect to turn up anyway—Harry Potter?"

"Only if he's as barmy as the papers say," said Ron without missing a beat. They watched Arthur slip into one of the many cubicles. Following suite, Harry and Ron did likewise and did exactly as Mr. Weasley had instructed. Harry hoisted himself up onto the toilet and prepared himself as he stepped into the toilet bowl. True to Mr. Weasley's word, Harry did not feel the water around his feet. He reached up, pulled the chain, and immediately felt a powerful pull from beneath his feet. It was a strange sensation, not unlike the compression he felt from Apparition. He must have done it properly though as the next moment he emerged from the fireplace and found himself standing in the Atrium.

Harry could tell much had changed since Voldemort had taken over from within the shadows. Immediately noticeable was the absence of the golden Fountain of Magical Brethren. In its stead was a black granite monolith featuring several witches and wizards on individual, ornately carved thrones, all positioned as if they were looking down upon the Ministry workers. The new monument was additionally accompanied by foot-high gold letters which spelled the motto of the new Ministry: Magic is Might.

The Atrium was darker than Harry remembered it also; the beautiful peacock blue ceiling was now a dull gray. The walls were plastered with posters containing the face Harry recognized as his own. The words: Undesirable Number One was boldly printed beneath his face.

But Harry had little time to dwell on these changes as he was soon separated from Arthur, Ron, and Hermione by the influx of Ministry employees began shuffling into the Atrium. He gradually made his way toward the lifts, finding himself in the company of wizards and witches he'd never seen before. However, it soon became apparent that Runcorn was well known.

"Morning, Albert," said a heavily whiskered man as the lift creaked into life and began its journey upward.

"Morning," said Harry, nervously. He didn't dare say much else. The unknown wizard leaned toward him and spoke so only Harry could hear him.

"So, Dirk faked his family tree, did he," the wizard asked.

"Naturally," said Harry, coming to his senses as he remembered Mr. Weasley's earlier synopsis. "Nasty business, but what can you expect with deceitful people all around?"

"Indeed," said the wizard. "Well, it's a good job you found out; one more undeserving thief for Azkaban, and I'm pretty confident I'll have his job now. Can't thank you enough!"

"Just doing my job," said Harry, growing more uncomfortable by the moment. The lift came to a sudden halt and a disembodied female voice filled the compartment.

_ "Level Six, Department of Magical Transportation, including: Flood Netork Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office, and the Apparition Test Centre_." Harry watched a handful of wizards, including the stranger, and witches depart as a smaller group boarded. The lift gate closed and they were off once more. Twice more the lift emptied and filled itself as it continued upwards.

_"Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including: Auror Headquarters, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, Improper Use of Magic Office, and the Wizengamot Administration." _All the passengers except for Harry got off on level two. For a moment, Harry thought he'd be traveling alone to the top level, but was greeted shortly thereafter by the new Minister of Magic; Pius Thicknesse. Harry was thankful Mr. Weasley had spent time reviewing the regime change within the Ministry.

"Runcorn, good day," greeted the Minister.

"Good day," said Harry, with a curt little bow.

"I understand congratulations are in order," said the minister as he stroked his silver streaked beard. "Job well done on the Cresswell case."

"Thank you," said Harry.

"Yes, Dolores spoke highly of you the other day. I suspect you'll be adequately commended and compensated for rooting out some of the cancer that infests these walls."

"Just doing my job, sir," repeated Harry. The minister bowed his head politely and fell silent. Harry did not like this Runcorn person; imitating the man was enough to make his stomach crawl. At long last, the lift made its final ascension

"_Level One, Minister for Magic's Office, including: Minister for Magic Support Staff and Office of the Muggle-born Registration Commission_." The golden rails slid apart as Harry found himself face-to-face with the pink-clad, toad-witch, Dolores Umbridge.

**() () ()**

"Runcorn, your timing is impeccable," said Umbridge, looking up from her clipboard. "We're in courtroom ten today, but I seem to have forgotten the Cattermole file on my desk. Would you be a dear and fetch it from my office before you head down? It would save me a good deal of time."

"Uh, sure, madam," said Harry, stepping out of the lift with the Minister.

"I'll have a full report at the end of the day for you, Minister," she said. Thicknesse gave her a bow and soon disappeared down one of the corridors.

"You remember the password from last night, Albert" she asked. She gave Harry a sly wink which sent several chills up his spine. He was thankful that Runcorn's deep voice came forth instead of his own.

"I think it's slipped my mind," he said. Umbridge leaned in close to his ear, her breath hot on his neck.

"Blood Supremacy," she whispered. She leaned back into the lift and consulted her clipboard once more as the lift began its decent, leaving Harry alone. With little time to waste, Harry set off down the left corridor—thanks to Mr. Weasley's Intel—toward Umbridge's office located at the end of the hall. He passed a few workers, all of which immediately diverted their eyes from his gaze. _Runcorn must be terribly unpopular , _thought Harry as he went on. Finally, after several more minutes and at the end of the long corridor, Harry came to a large, bright pink door with a gold plaque that read:

**Dolores Umbridge**

Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic

Head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission

But something else on the door caught his attention; the bright blue iris of an eye Harry immediately recognized was planted on the door where one would normally find a peephole. The magical eye of Alastor Moody was stationary and did not appear to function as it once did. Harry felt the acid in his stomach boil as he quickly looked over his shoulder and attempted to pull the eye from the door with physical force. But the eye wouldn't budge.

"Blood Supremacy," said Harry in a scathing voice. Several clinks came from behind the door as multiple locks released. Harry pushed the door open and felt himself transported to his fifth year at Hogwarts. Lace draperies, doilies, and dried flowers covered most of the office, leaving hardly a space untouched. The walls were painted in the same hideous pink as the office door, covered by the same kitten-clad ornate plates that Harry longed to smash with a hammer. As he surveyed the room, he found a telescopic attachment on the door, undoubtedly connected to Moody's eye. Harry gave another attempt, feeling some degree of satisfaction as the whole assembly ripped easily from the door, including Mad-Eye's eye. Harry easily removed the eye this time and placed it in his pocket.

"Accio Locket," incanted Harry, but as expected, nothing happened. Harry rushed to her desk and began shuffling through the papers gathered in neat stacks, taking special care not to lose the file he'd been sent to collect. All were files of Muggle-borns scheduled for hearings. He found parchment and quill and jotted down the names as quickly as he could and stuffed that into his pants pocket as well. He then proceeded to shuffle through each of the desk's drawers, again finding no locket. He moved to the filing cabinet behind the desk, not really expecting to find the locket there either; indeed, he soon began suspecting that Umbridge was likely wearing the locket.

He did however; discover a file labeled, Undesirables. He picked it up and felt another wave of anger. He read through the list quickly:

UNDESIRABLE NO. 1

Harry James Potter:

Half-blood, enemy of the Ministry, pro-Muggle leanings, known accomplice to Albus Dumbledore

CURRENT LOCATION: Unknown, last known residence vacated

STATUS: to be punished for Ministry slander, libel, and involvement with the death of Albus Dumbledore

UNDESIRABLE NO. 2

Hermione Jane Granger:

Muggle-born, enemy of the Ministry, pro-Muggle leanings, best friend of Undesirable No. 1, possibly romantically involved with Undesirable No. 1

Harry paused here, his brows furrowed: once more the rumors perpetuated by Rita Skeeter appeared to be the Ministry's main source of intelligence. Harry kept reading:

CURRENT LOCATION: Unknown, likely traveling with Undesirable No. 1

STATUS: to be punished for failure to register blood status

UNDESIRABLE NO. 3

Ronald Bilius Weasley:

Pureblood, enemy of the Ministry, Muggle attitudes unknown, but suspected to share his father's (Arthur Weasley) pro-Muggle attitudes and is also best friends with Undesirable No. 1 and No. 2

CURRENT LOCATION: Home, seriously ill, Ministry inspectors confirmed

STATUS: to be determined

UNDESIRABLE NO. 4

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody:

Pureblood, known member of the Order of the Phoenix, Ex-Auror, Suspected pro-Muggle leanings, known close friend of Albus Dumbledore

CURRENT LOCATION: Unknown

STATUS: Deceased

UNDESIRABLE NO. 5

Arthur Weasley:

Pureblood, Ministry employee, recently demoted back to Head of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, Known pro-Muggle leanings, possibly obsessive fascination, known member of the Order of the Phoenix,

Entire family (Percy Weasley, exception), under suspicion of Ministry contempt

CURRENT LOCATION: Ottery St. Catchpole, Continues Ministry Employee without incident

STATUS: In the event of contact with Undesirable No. 1 or No. 2, to be punished severely

Harry stopped reading and folded the file and stuffed it inside his trench coat. Harry gave the room one last sweep before inspiration struck. He dipped the loose quill into the ink jar and took a spare piece of parchment and composed a note for Umbridge:

I Must Not Tell Lies,

Yours,

Undesirable No. 1

Just as Harry turned to leave, however, he caught the corner of the desk with his still uncomfortable body and fell face forward. He extended his arms to ease the fall when he felt the glass break against the side of the desk from within his wand holster. The vial containing the Polyjuice has smashed against the desk. Panic flooded Harry as he quickly used his wand to clean the mess. He had to get to the courtroom now. He grabbed the Cattermole file and dashed from the office and back down the long corridor toward the lifts.

The lift came to a stop on Level Two as Kingsley boarded, his magnificent purple robes billowing slightly with his movement. Only when the lift gates had shut and began its decent did Kingsley speak.

"You're cutting it a little close, Harry," he said, his deep voice bringing a small ounce of calm back to Harry.

"Umbridge sent me to her office for a file," said Harry. "I took the opportunity and found this," he handed Kingsley the bent and crumpled file. "I don't how much of this the Order knows, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to have it. Also," he added, giving Kingsley the copied list, "these are the names of Muggle-borns that are scheduled for hearings."

"Good work, Harry," said Kingsley. "We can do something with this, I'm sure."

"I also have this," he said, handing over Mad-Eye's eye.

"So they had found the body," said Kingsley sadly.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Also, I broke my spare vial of Polyjuice potion. I have my invisibility cloak, but Umbridge is expecting me with this file. We might have to improvise."

"How much time has expired since you took your dose?"

"Forty-five minutes, at least."

"Improvisation might be the wrong word," said Kingsley.

Once the lift had fully descended to the bottom level of the Ministry, Kingsley directed Harry to courtroom ten, but it wasn't necessary. Harry was unlikely to forget his full tribunal hearing just prior to his fifth year. There was something different however; an unnatural chill filled the dark corridor that lead to courtroom ten. He felt the weight of the coldness on his body, the new sharpness to his breathing and even the slight mist that escaped with every exhale. As he and Kingsley approached the double doors of courtroom ten, two distinctively tall, black-hooded, skeletal framed figures hovered inches from the tile floor, guarding the entrance.

Dementors.

Doing his best to suppress his shivers, Harry walked beyond them and proceeded into the courtroom with Kingsley following closely behind. Inside, he discovered a horrifying reality.

The courtroom was different then he remembered: once an empty and high-reaching ceiling presided over the courtroom; now, the void was filled with a horde of Dementors hovering overhead, blind-witnesses to the miscarriage of justice below. He spotted Mr. Weasley soon enough, having taken a solitary seat on one of the many audience bench seats. Not much further away were several witches and wizards grouped together on yet another bench. Some were crying as others attempted to shield themselves physically from the effects of the Dementors. Ron, he saw, stood leaning on a broom at the back of the courtroom, though his body was shivering slightly. Hermione on the other hand, had been seated to the left of Umbridge—accompanied by a small feline Patronus—who stood at the very podium Fudge had once looked down upon him from. It was then that Harry noticed it; glinting in the light of her cat Patronus was the green serpentine 'S' of Salazar Slytherin's locket. Lastly, Harry recognized the wizard sitting on Umbridge's right; Yaxley, a known Death Eater.

"Ah, Albert, I was beginning to worry," said Umbridge. "You have the file, yes?" Harry quickly shuffled down the aisle and presented the file to Umbridge.

"Made a detour to the loo, sorry for the delay," he said.

"Quite alright, Albert," she said with the poisonous smile Harry knew well. "Fell free to stay for the hearing if you like, I'm sure you could use the break from the office."

"Thank you," he said, retreating to his own solitary bench. He watched as Kingsley discreetly dropped a note to Mr. Weasley and promptly returned to his spot against the courtroom wall.

"Next—Mrs. Mary Cattermole," called Umbridge, before turning to Hermione again. "Are you ready to being, Mafalda?"

"Yes, Madam," she said.

"I must say, Mafalda, I like the change in your enthusiasm." Hermione gave her a forced smile as a small woman stood up, trembling violently from head to toe. Her face was pale from the lack of blood flow and fear. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun.

"Sit down, please," said Umbridge, her voice carrying the familiar soft and silky tone.

Mrs. Cattermole timidly approached the chair Harry also recognized. This was the chair of the accused. The moment Mary Cattermole took her seat, several chains immediately materialized from the arms of the chair and bound her. Comprehension fell on Harry; this was no hearing—it was a sentencing. The young distressed woman let out a plea for help. Harry caught the distinctive longing from Mr. Weasley.

"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole," asked Umbridge.

"Y—Yes, yes I am," she said, voice shaky. Harry could feel the Dementor's chill on her voice.

"Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?" At this moment, the doors of the courtroom opened as a man dressed in navy blue robes sprinted down the aisle to the chair of the accused. The woman burst into tears.

"Ah, Reginald isn't it," asked Umbridge sweetly. "As Mrs. Cattermole appears incapable of answering, perhaps you can answer in her stead?"

"Yes, Mary is my wife," he said, standing tall. "She is falsely accused, Madam."

"Thank you," said Umbridge, waving his comment away. "As you're no doubt aware, Mrs. Cattermole, a wand was confiscated from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today—eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, Unicorn-hair core—do you recognize that description?

"That's my wand," she squeaked.

"Could you please inform the court from which witch or wizard you took that wand?"

"T—took," she sobbed, "I d-didn't t-take it from anyone—I b-bought it from Olivander's—it c-choose me."

"Lies," said Dolores softly, leaning over the podium. "Wands only choose witches or wizards, and you, Mrs. Cattermole, are not a witch." She shuffled through the file before her and held up a slip of parchment.

"But I am a witch," said Mary, her eyes glistening with tears. "I got the letter from Hogwarts; Professor Sprout accompanied me through Diagon Alley."

"I will not tolerate lies in this courtroom, Mrs. Cattermole," snapped Umbridge, losing her falsely sweet tone. She read from the leaflet in her hands: "Parents professions: green grocers." Mary again burst into tears as Yaxley added his own thoughts.

"Stop you're blubbering, Mudblood."

"You see this, Mrs. Cattermole," said Umbridge, flashing the locket. "This is an old family heirloom, from the Selwyn family. My family is long descended from that line. Can you make such a claim?"

"The wand," she said, shaking the tears from her eyes before giving Umbridge a defiant stare, "the wand chose me; I am a witch."

"Enough with the lies," shouted Umbridge. "I think we've heard enough to reach a conclusion, don't you, Yaxley?"

"More than enough," he agreed.

"Mary Elizabeth Cattermole, you are hereby charged: that you knowingly and deliberately stole the property of a witch or wizard, with the intent to infiltrate the magical community for the purpose of destabilizing the purity of the magical world. For your crimes, you are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban."

"NO," she wept, "Reginald, tell them, tell them I'm a witch."

"Madam, have mercy," said Reginald. "My wife is a witch; she has been all her life, at Hogwarts and after. She did not steel her wand."

"Prepare another cell in Azkaban," said Umbridge with a greedy smile. "After all, it's clear you don't wish to be parted from your thief of a wife." The color drained from Mr. Cattermole's face. Harry could stand it no longer. He had already felt the Polyjuice potion leaving his body; it would be only moments before his true identity would be known. His feet carried him without thought as he found himself standing between the Cattermoles and Umbridge, his wand pointing directly at Umbridge's chest.

"Albert, what are you doing," she asked, suspiciously.

"You shouldn't tell lies, Dolores," he said. He felt his body shrink and his vision grow blurry. He reached with his free hand and put on his glasses. Yaxley raised his wand but Hermione was much quicker and silently stunned him from behind. Harry acted before Umbridge could say another word.

"Stupefy," he shouted. His Stunner hit her square in the chest, sending her backward several feet, leaving her in a crumpled pile on the raised platform.

"Harry, what were you thinking," asked Hermione frantically. "You can't be seen here! And why didn't you take your extra potion?"

"No time," said Harry, "quick, grab the locket!" Ron, Kingsley, and Mr. Weasley rushed to join them.

"Quick thinking, Miss. Granger," said Kingsley. "We'll need to act fast to get you lot out of here. You got what you were looking for I take it?"

"Yes," said Harry. But before he could elaborate, Mrs. Cattermole screamed. In unison, they turned and dread filled Harry; the horde of Dementors descended upon them.


	21. The Shape-Shifting Patronus

**Author's Note: **Hello again! This a slightly shorter chapter than usual, but contains a thoughtful Harry and Hermione moment (I hope). If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the story is just under half way to the finish line, and it's been a learning experience. For those who have asked, yes, the trio will inevitibly be forced to vacate Grimmuald Place, but that day is not today. Hopefully, the way I have that planned will be unique and plausible. My only hint is what Dumbledore told Harry in HBP; "Magic always leaves traces."

For those who may not be aware, I have also started my more canon-loose story that starts in third year; Courage Rising.

As always, thanks for the patience, the comments, and the follows. You are all truly marvelous people.

It all belongs to Jo.

Cheers.

**Chapter Twenty One: The Shape-Shifting Patronus**

The Dementors swarmed above them, descending in a swirl of ragged black cloaks. Umbridge's sufficient, albeit weak Patronus had simply kept them at bay and masked the overwhelming frosty air of their presence; now they raced toward their potential victims, the full weight of their sapping aura filling the entirety of the chamber.

"Patronusses, now," said Kingsley, raising his own wand toward the oncoming Dementors. His lynx Patronus lunged in front of him. Arthur was quick to reach Kingsley's side as he sent his own Patronus into the air. Urged by their castors, the lynx and weasel circled around them, pushing against several Dementors. But they were not enough as more Dementors continued their descent from the high recesses of the chamber. It was clear, now, to Harry, that Umbridge's Patronus was not what had kept the Dementors at bay—they had recognized the authority over them had ceased when Umbridge had fallen unconscious.

"Ron, Hermione, we've got to help them," shouted Harry, as he raised his wand. The bright silver stag erupted from his wand and began a methodical canter around them. The lynx and weasel bound themselves to the back of Harry's stag and the first wave of Dementors rebounded against an invisible wall. Still, more Dementors were descending.

But Ron and Hermione had never used a Patronus like this—not under this kind of pressure. Ron tried three times before a weakly-formed terrier leapt from his wand, joining the stag at his hoofed feet. It wasn't much, Ron's Patronus, but it helped fight the second advancing line of Dementors.

"Expecto Patronum," said Hermione, her wand arm shaking. Nothing happened; it was the only spell in which Hermione had trouble performing.

"You can do it, Hermione," said Harry confidently.

"Ex-Expect-Expecto Patronum," she said again, her voice more feeble than before. Again nothing happened.

"Happy thoughts, Hermione," said Harry, urging his stag aggressively. Three waves of Dementors had been repelled and sent retreating back into the horde above them. Harry knew it would only be moments before they descended with their full force. Even with the Patronusses circling them, Harry could feel the clammy coldness over his exposed skin. He'd only repelled this many Dementors once before. He could hear an uncomfortable hum in his ears, a distorted hum he knew to be his mother's scream should their struggle prolong any further.

"Expecto Patronum," shouted Hermione; a thin silvery wisp shot from her wand and though its substance was hazy, began to take shape of the familiar otter Harry had seen before. But the weakly-formed otter soon dissipated into a cloud of glistening vapor. The shapeless cloud hovered toward Harry's stag, falling into the same pace beside it. It had a large form, whatever it was; the shapeless Patronus was now cantering around them in the same way that Harry's stag did, but still, it took no definitive form. But no one had time to consider the strange phenomenon that was Hermione's Patronus, for the horde of Dementors descended upon them in full force. As the first Dementors drew near, Hermione's feeble Patronus vanished. Harry looked over in time to see Hermione's legs give way beneath the oppressive cold of the Dementors. Her face was tinged with blue, and without even thinking, Harry dashed the short distance between them and caught her before she collapsed. He could hear the flapping of the Dementor's cloaks above him as they approached with speed but they didn't matter as he looked upon defeated face of his best friend.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered as the effects of the Polyjuice faded away. "I've always been rubbish when it mattered most."

"That's rubbish," replied Harry defiantly. "You know it." He eyed the exit doors of the chamber. They could run for it, but for what purpose? The Dementors would simply follow them into the Ministry, putting more wizards and witches at risk. He wondered how many ministry officials could even produce a Patronus. No, they had to repel the Dementors before they exited the chambers. It was the only option. Then the most peculiar thought occurred to Harry. The idea was mad, foolish at best. Still, he could think of no reason why it wouldn't work. Holding Hermione firmly with one arm, he raised his wand at the horde and bellowed:

"Expecto Patronum!" In truth, Harry fully expected the spell to fail. His next expectation had been to see his previously summoned Patronus vanish and be replaced with a fresh, newly casted one. But neither of these expectations came to fruition. Nor did a new Patronus appear. Rather, a field of shimmering, pulsating white light erupted from his wand and covered them like a dome. There was more.

The already present Patronus animals were absorbed into the shield-like dome, causing another violent pulse of light to flash from the energy that continued to project from Harry's wand. There was a sound coming from the shield with every gently rhythmic vibration; it was subtle, but it reminded Harry of the night his and Voldemort's wands had connected in the graveyard. This Patronus—if it could be called that—repelled the Dementors with significant force. Now all they needed was to get to the doors of the chamber. Then, as if the magic from Harry's wand knew his thoughts, the shield began to expand, pushing the Dementors higher and higher into the dark cavities of the unseen chamber ceiling.

"Let's go," shouted Kingsley, taking Cattermole by the arm and pulling her onward as Reginald followed swiftly behind. Harry lifted Hermione to her feet as Ron took her other arm over his shoulders. Together, he and Harry supported Hermione with her slow retreat from the chamber. Arthur followed behind them, his back facing the chamber doors in order to ensure they weren't followed. As they reached the door, Harry broke his connection with the spell, surprised to find that the shield remained. Once they were safely in the hall, Kingsley sealed the courtroom doors so the Dementors did not escape.

"Right, well, that could have gone better," said Kingsley with a heavy sigh.

"No point in dwelling on it," said Arthur. "We need to get you three out of here, now."

"Hermione, can you walk," asked Harry.

"Yes, I think so," she said, disentangling herself from the boys. Her legs shook violently, but she held herself up. "I don't know what happened—I'm sorry."

"With that many Dementors, I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did, Hermione," said Arthur. "I wasn't sure how much longer I was going to hold on."

"The fact all three of you can produce Patronusses—in any form—at your age is a feat in itself," said Kinglsey. "Speaking of which, Harry, when did you learn to do that with a Patronus? I've never seen anything like it."

"I don't know," said Harry. "But now isn't really the time for it, is it?"

"Indeed not," said Kingsley apologetically.

"And it's not just us three that needs to leave," said Hermione. "These two can't simply stroll through the Ministry can they?"

"We'll take them separately," said Arthur, giving Reginald a nod. "We'll find them a safe place to lie low for a while."

"Hermione, do you still have your second vial of potion," asked Harry. She nodded though the clamminess of her insides protested the thought of another dose of Polyjuice. Hermione removed the vial from the compartment on her wand holster and drank. Ron did likewise.

"And you, Harry, should get beneath your cloak," said Kingsley.

"Wait," said Mary. She walked over to Harry, timidly, and took his face into both her hands and kissed him softly on the forehead.

"Thank you," she said, looking at all her rescuers. "All of you, thank you; I know you didn't come specifically for me, but you could have just as easily left me. Merlyn watch over you, Harry Potter."

() () ()

Back at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher had already prepared supper. Arthur had been invited to stay but declined, saying he preferred to return to Molly as quickly as he could so she would not worry. He did however, inquire about the locket; Mr. Weasley could tell it was far more than a piece of jewelry.

"Sorry, Arthur," Harry had said, "it's best now knowing."

Ron, by contrast, stopped worrying about Horcruxes all-together as Kreacher presented his promised steak-and-kidney pie.

"I've been looking forward to this all day," he said, plunging a fork into the flakey crust. Hermione didn't speak through supper. Despite having consumed a full bar of dark chocolate, her hands were still noticeably shaky and she ate her pie with slow, methodical precision. Harry watched her eat from the corner of his eye. Each bite she took was accompanied by an internal conversation. So, when Ron excused himself from the table to take a shower, Harry took the opportunity to finally say something.

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

"I'll be fine," she said with a quick smile. "I'm still just a little shaken up is all."

"Dementors are never pleasant," he said with a full endorsement. Silence fell in the kitchen as Hermione's gaze appeared to focus on a particular knot at the center of the table. That's when Harry knew.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Harry.

"For what," she asked, speaking again. She did not, however, meet his gaze.

"I forgot what it's like facing a Dementor for the first time," said Harry sheepishly. "I forgot you never had the chance to learn what they're really like—what they can do to you." Hermione didn't answer him, but she gave him an appreciative nod.

"Well, if you want to talk about it, come find me, okay," he said, picking up his plate and setting it in the sink. He gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and retreated from the kitchen. He mentally kicked himself as he sunk into the thick cushions of the couch. The elation he'd felt earlier in the evening as they stowed the locket Horcrux into Hermione's charmed handbag—stored safely inside the Mokeskin pouch—vanished instantly as realized he'd overlooked the struggle Hermione had endured inside the chamber. Harry did not, however, have long to brood.

"Harry?"

"Yeah," he said, looking over his shoulder. Hermione stood in the archway timidly, chewing her bottom lip a bit more harshly than usual.

"Can we talk, about earlier," she asked, sitting down at the end of the couch.

"I said we could," said Harry encouragingly. At first Hermione seemed to reconsider her decision. She opened her mouth to speak several times, but no words came.

"It's alright," said Harry after a minute or so passed. "You don't have to say anything."

"It's silly," she said hurriedly, finding her voice at last. "How can I possibly be feeling so…so miserable when nothing in my life has been as horrible as yours?" Harry moved closer and took her into his arms. She hid it well, but Harry felt her subtle shivers as she curled into Harry's torso.

"It's not silly," said Harry softly. "The more Dementors there are, the more effect they have on us. Everything is amplified; their presence is colder, their pull on the worst moments of our life is stronger—it's enough for anyone."

"I couldn't even produce a corporeal Patronus, Harry," she said mortified. "I'm supposed to be the brightest, the best, and when it mattered—"

"When it mattered, you did what you always do," said Harry, oblivious that he was twirling his finger in her bushy curls. "You were right there, beside me; that's what matters most."

"It's not enough," she argued, her voice muffled as she spoke into his chest. "You need more from me; I used to be the one protecting you. Everything changed after the tournament; you don't need me anymore."

"Hermione, that's enough," said Harry. He pulled her away so he could look her straight in the eyes, chocolate brown eyes that swam with tears. "Listen to me; I will always need you. Who made sure I took the right potion to get to Quirrell? Who discovered the identity of the monster in the Chamber of Secrets? Who stood between a suspected murderer and me? Who went backwards in time to save the only family I'd ever known? Who spent countless hours researching spells and devising strategies to make sure I'd survive an extremely dangerous tournament? Who's the only person who never turned their back on me? That was you.

"And you're right; everything changed after the tournament, but it wasn't you. I'm the one that pushed you away because I thought I had to be strong. I did to you what Dumbledore had done to me. Truthfully, I pushed everyone away. But you never stopped protecting me. Who made the Essence of Murtlap to sooth my hand? Who helped keep my hot head cool? Who tried to give me caution even when I didn't want to hear it? Who pushed me to teach others to defend themselves? Who guarded me from those only interested in my fame? Who promised to step through the flames with me? That was you. I need you, Hermione."

Hermione was wiping away tears with her shirt sleeve, but Harry had not yet released his grip on her shoulders. Without any words, Hermione curled back into Harry's chest. Her shivers had subsided then, though Harry could still feel the cold on the skin of her hands as she brushed his neck. Instinctively, Harry held her tighter, trying to warm her, but he knew the cold she felt was from the inside.

"Do you remember the practical exam Lupin had set up for us," she asked after a while.

"Yeah," said Harry, unsure where this was going.

"You remember how I struggled with the Bogart?"

"Yeah," said Harry with a smile. "You said the Boggart turned into Professor McGonagall and said you'd failed everything."

"I was so embarrassed."

"It's alright," he said, "you managed to deal with the Boggart appropriately."

"No, I'm embarrassed I didn't tell you the truth," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"The Boggart didn't turn into Professor McGonagall, Harry."

"I don't understand; what did it turn into?"

"It turned into you," she said quietly.

"Now I'm really confused," admitted Harry. "You were afraid of me?"

"I saw you dead, Harry," she said quieter still. "We didn't know Sirius was innocent then; I saw him standing over your dead body, Harry, laughing. And then it morphed and it wasn't Sirius anymore, but it was…"

"Tom," said Harry. Hermione nodded, but she wasn't finished.

"That's what I saw today," she said. "Or heard, I should say. And then I remembered the graveyard, as if I'd been the one who saw him return, heard the sound of rushing death as Cedric died…heard your tortured screams...your pleading with Dumbledore…"

"So my memories—because you watched them—became your memories, in a sense, and the Dementors drew upon them?" Hermione nodded once more.

"How pathetic am I," she asked, "that my worst memories are imagined or not mine at all, but rather they're yours?"

"Whatever it is, it's not pathetic," said Harry, feeling a rush of emotion. "But it proves my point from earlier; who but you would take my burdens and make them your own?"

"But I was so weak today," she said, shaking her head. "And I don't even know what to think of my Patronus; I've never heard of one changing shape in the midst of performing the spell."

"And you'll figure it out," said Harry confidently. "Because that's who you are; you're the brightest witch of our age, remember?"

"But you need more," she said. "You need more than my brains."

"Of course I do," said Harry with a smile. "I need everything you are, Hermione. Everything."


	22. Minerva's Burden

**Author's Notes: **Sorry for the wait. I've been busy with getting the nursery ready and other honey-do's. 8 weeks or so until the little guy arrives.

Anyway, without further ado, the next chapter.

Cheers.

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Minerva's Burden**

August was an uneventful month for Harry, Ron, and Hermione as all the tenderly-cared-for lawns and gardens of Britain baked beneath the late summer sun, leaving behind patches of brown and brittle grass and drooping leaves that welcomed September's first morning greeting. It was quiet inside Grimmauld. They were each contemplating the truth in their own way; the Hogwarts Express would depart Kings Cross without them for the first time.

Ron talked with Kreacher about all the usual food choices of the welcoming feast. Despite Hermione's objections about Kreacher's work load, Ron was determined that if he couldn't sit in the Great Hall, he would at least celebrate his favorite tradition in spirit. Hermione lay on the couch in the living room, the Standard Book of Spells, grade 7, propped open and resting against the top of her thighs. But she did not read; rather, her hands fumbled with the small silver Prefects badge she had proudly worn since fifth year. Harry, having seen both their reactions, retreated to Sirius' bedroom and welcomed the sanctuary it offered.

However, it was only a temporary one; alone, sprawled across Sirius' bed his thoughts wandered to unpleasant places. When he tried to understand his wand's strange, unheard-of-before behavior, his thoughts returned to the graveyard and his parents' ghostly echoes. When he considered the equally unique occurrence of his Patronus, Dumbledore's words of emotionally-driven magic sent a shiver down his spine and a recognized but wholly different sensation would erupt in his chest where his heart resided. When he tried to focus on Horcruxes, he would only think of the one laying dominant within him and wondered how long he would continue to walk the earth. He further didn't like that something within him stirred and compelled to be near the Horcrux hidden away.

The thought that consumed Harry most, however, was telling his friends he had to walk willingly to death to see victory over Voldemort. Did he have the courage to say anything at all? Harry shook his head. That wasn't entirely truthful. The question that burdened him most was how to tell Hermione. Again his heavy heart beat against his chest. No, he would not entertain the truth he kept buried at the center of his soul. He had buried it long ago, long before he had known it was there. He would take that truth to the grave, burying it one more time.

For the last time.

The revelation that his death had been Hermione's Boggart affected him deeply. That his worst fears and nightmares had become hers pierced him in a way nothing else ever had or ever would. Hermione's confession that she believed herself useless had left him far more vulnerable than the Dursleys or Voldemort had ever managed. His thoughts wandered back to his parents.

His parents had left him provided for; his education, his heritage, and what it meant to be a Potter. Their sacrifice spoke to him more clearly than it ever had before. His heart calmed for a moment; If James Potter could find the courage to face certain death, than he could find the courage to stand tall and walk the path before him. If Lily Potter could find the courage to give her life for her son, than he could find the courage to do the same. He would lay down his life for his friends.

Sirius had likewise given everything; the gold in his vault, a house, twelve years in captivity, and lastly, his life. He spent nearly a year in a cave, living on rats, risking capture and a Dementor's Kiss. And though it had been Harry's doing, Sirius had come after him at the Department of Mysteries. Sirius had given him a truth that no one else could; any sacrifice was bearable for a loved one.

Most profoundly, Dumbledore had given him his strangest thought; that one need not fear death, for it was, _to the well-organized mind_, the next great adventure. Dumbledore had also given him a glimpse into a source from which he could reach into and find the courage for the course ahead; that by holding a loved one more valuable than yourself could you find a quiet strength unmatched in the world. Harry did not know what would await him on the other side of death. He only knew in the depth of his heart that whatever it was must be good. Sirius had gone on, as Nicholas once said. He knew Dumbledore would never return to live a half-life, nor would his parents. There was nothing concrete to grasp, but it was enough to bring him peace in the moment.

Since the conclusion of his first year at Hogwarts, Harry was vaguely aware of his own mortality. Now that he could see a definitive end to his time on earth, his mortality made him consider what most people overlooked until it was too late. What would his legacy be? What would he leave behind? What would he leave her?

He considered the contents of his vault hidden deep beneath Gringotts; where would the inheritance he received go when he was gone? He didn't care about the modest stacks of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts; money had lost all meaning since his conversation with Dumbledore inside the Pensieve and he couldn't take it with him. He at last began to understand Sirius. Sirius had known he wouldn't want more gold or a house; Sirius had simply carried out his duty as Godfather as best as circumstances had allowed. All these thoughts came together as morning gave way to the noon hour; he needed to produce a will.

He knew they wouldn't want any of it; but what choice did he have?

So, as the noon hour ticked away, Harry left the comfort of the bed in exchange for the uncomfortable chair at the desk in the corner of the room and began to compose the most important letter he would ever write.

He first addressed Hogwarts, the only place he considered home. He could only think of one legacy to leave the school. He then addressed the Weasley Family. He expressed as best he could the gratitude and affection he had for them and appropriated a portion of the contents within his vault. Now knowing the value of his vault, he could only divide his possessions in percentages. It would have to do.

He considered Hagrid; his first friend and gatekeeper into the world of magic. He smiled as he gave Hagrid the means to buy the one pet he'd always wanted. He knew it was unwise, but if Hagrid survived the war, he deserved the opportunity to see one dream fulfilled.

Ron had been the first friend of his age; funny, self-conscious, partner-in-crime, prone to jealously, and at times, victim of his own fears. Ron was not perfect and neither was he. That Ron had followed him on his quest for Horcruxes told him everything he needed to know about Ron; he was loyal, courageous, and will to share in Harry's burden. That was enough and more than he had the right to expect.

He left most to Hermione. He had only two requests of her: one, that she finish her exams and pursue the changes she desperately sought to see in the wizarding world, and two, when the dust of war settled, she would tell the truth; that Harry Potter was as ordinary as anyone else. That the Boy Who Lived survived because of a mother's love. That his accomplishments were due not of his skill, but the efforts of those before him and the best friends who walked beside him now; the imperfect but loyal heart of Ron, and the dedication, selflessness, and brilliance of Hermione. If he was successful, it was because he had never carried the burden alone.

Once he was finished composing his requests, he turned his attention to another problem. Who could he trust to see his expressed wishes carried out? Only one person came to mind; Minerva McGonagall. As the noon hour expired, he signed his name to the letter and rolled both pieces of parchment into a tight scroll.

"Kreacher," he said, his voice low but steady and clear. There was a soft _pop_ behind him and Kreacher appeared, bowing low.

"What request does Master have of Kreacher," asked the elf.

"I have an important task that must requires your immediate attention," said Harry, giving the elf the scroll. "Deliver this to Minerva McGonagall, at Hogwarts. Be sure to do so only when she is alone. Reveal yourself to no one else, and speak to no one else. Do you understand what I'm saying, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher is to deliver the letter to Minerva McGonagall, not revealing himself nor speaking to anyone but to Minerva McGonagall," repeated the elf. "Kreacher will return home once he had delivered Master's note."

"Thank you, Kreacher," said Harry. Kreacher gave him another bow and Disapparated with another _pop_. Harry leaned back into his chair and released a long, slow breath as another weight fell from his shoulders. Not long after Harry had sent Kreacher on his errand, he heard a knock on the door. Hermione leaned against the wood trim, her hands resting against the wall on either side.

"Strange, isn't it," she said with a half-hearted smile. "The train is already on its way to Hogsmeade."

"Yeah," said Harry. He had a suspicion Hermione had more on her mind so he turned the chair around as she entered the room and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

"Don't tell Ron, but I'm actually quite glad he's having Kreacher put on a feast for us." Harry smiled. He felt the same way.

"I won't tell a soul," he said. She returned his smile and crossed her legs.

"I've been thinking," she said after a moment.

"What about?"

"About your Patronus," she said. "And my lack of one." Harry waited.

"I need your help," she said finally, biting her lower lip.

"You just need practice is all," said Harry, encouragingly.

"Maybe," she said. "But I've tried a few times this morning and it's the same as last night. It's just a large wisp of silver. When you taught us this spell, you told us we needed a strong, happy memory. I've thought of every happy memory I can recall and none of them ever seem adequate."

"I'm not sure I can help with that," said Harry. "Lupin couldn't help me either, come to think of it."

"What memory do you use," she asked. "It must be really special."

"Truthfully," asked Harry. Hermione nodded.

"I don't really think of a memory anymore," he said. "I don't know if it's because I've performed it so many times and my body just knows the emotion I'm supposed to feel or what, but I don't think of any one thing. Dumbledore told me the memory isn't what triggers the charm—it's the emotion. The memory just helps us to feel it so we can use it. In almost every instance, I was pushed with no other choice but to make the spell work. Down by the lake with Sirius, the alleyway with Dudley, and—"

"In the Ministry with us," finished Hermione. "Because you needed to save someone."

"I suppose," said Harry. "But to answer your question, there was a memory I used to rely on."

"What was it," asked Hermione. "Maybe it will help me find something comparable."

"The thing is, Hermione, it wasn't a memory—it was something I imagined—something I've imagined ever since I saw my parents in the Mirror of Erised. I imagined them talking to me—just talking. And smiling and standing around me. But those things never happened. It's not exactly a happy thought. And yet, it's the happiest I've ever felt." Harry was suddenly caught unaware as Hermione had leapt from the bed and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry, Harry" she whispered.

"It's alright," he said.

"But it isn't," she insisted. "You should have had eleven years at the least of happy memories."

"Let it go, Hermione," he said with slight pleading. But Hermione didn't let things go; not until they were made right. And he loved her for it.

"When this war is over I'm taking you on holiday," she said, her face flush with determination, "just you, me, and Mum and Dad. We'll go somewhere nice and warm. We'll make up for all the years you lost."

"I think you've already done that," said Harry truthfully. "That and more."

**() () ()**

Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk reviewing the list of new and returning students. Numbers were down but not as much as she had expected. Most of those not returning were Muggleborn. But Minerva did not think long on them. Instead, her thoughts labored over the three students she knew would not return. Her heart was heavy with worry. How could it not be? They were her students. They were her trouble-makers. In six years, they had become the life-blood of the school. Though most would say Minerva McGonagall did not pick favorites, she knew deep down three young adults had penetrated that invisible wall. Albus had been right; they had been destined to do great things.

Ronald Weasley was every bit the red-headed Weasley she had expected. A penchant for mischief, overly competitive in Quidditch, and a fierce stubbornness inherited from the Weasley matriarch that revealed itself most when faced with a difficult obstacle. She had been frustrated several times over the years with his academic under-achievement, but she knew even now the absence of his humored wit and sarcastic commentary would be felt by all. Most of all, he shared a quality she admired most in the Weasley family; a strong dislike for the dark arts and those who perpetuated the supremacy of pure blood.

Hermione Granger was the ideal student; punctual, attentive, inquisitive, and brilliant. Everything could be questioned and nothing was set in stone. But Hermione was much more to the aging professor; she had blossomed from the over-bearing, bossy bookworm into a fierce proponent of social justice and moral clarity. Hermione was a goal setter and not easily deterred. She was the wind of change most in her world would never see approaching. But today, all these things were nearly insignificant in Minerva's eyes, for they did not reflect the bushy-haired woman's heart—a heart that was forever bound to Harry Potter. Not that Harry knew.

Harry Potter; The Boy Who Lived. The babe she and Albus had left on a doorstep on a cold October night. It had been for his protection and the semblance of family. There had been no such thing, Minerva discovered, after a conversation with Hestia not long after Potter's extraction. She wanted to murder those Muggles. She wanted to murder Albus. She wanted James and Lily's forgiveness. She wanted Harry's forgiveness. She wanted to turn back time and sign his Hogsmeade form. She wanted to believe his warning about the Sorcerer's Stone. She wanted most of all to give him back his innocence. There was no question; Harry Potter was Minerva McGonagall's favorite. Not because he was The Boy Who Lived, or the boy who'd been forced to bear the burdens of adults, but the boy who loved to fly on his broom. She loved the man whose courage and outstanding moral fiber would echo in the castle halls for years to come. Minerva was so deep in her thoughts that she hardly registered the sound of Apparition within her office.

"May I help you," asked Minerva, giving the aged elf a shrewd glance. The elf bowed to the professor.

"Kreacher at your service," he said, offering the scroll to McGonagall. She took it reluctantly but did not open it.

"And who has sent you," she asked.

"Kreacher does the bidding of his master, Harry Potter."

"You know where Harry is? Is he alright? Does he need anything?"

"Master Harry and his friends are home," said Kreacher. "Kreacher was ordered to deliver the letter to Minerva McGonagall and return home. Kreacher has delivered the letter. Good day to you, madam." Before McGonagall could protest or inquire further, Kreacher Disapparated once more. She unsealed the scroll and read:

_Professor McGonagall, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wish I could say that I'm writing to confirm my return to Hogwarts for my seventh and final year, but that is not the case. Instead, I'm writing to you to ask for your assistance—a favor if you will. I cannot express how important it is that you speak to no one regarding the contents of this letter except for those named in the attached parchment and certainly not before the conditions indicated are met. I realize this sounds strange, but it isn't—you'll understand once you've read it. And I'm sorry to say you'll need to read it because there is no one else I trust to see it done properly._

_ I don't know if I'll see you again before the end; just in case, I just wanted to say thank you for the Nimbus—I know it was you—and giving me my freedom even if it was only for a little while. It meant to world to me. When my task for Dumbledore is finished, I will confront Lord Voldemort. While I can't disclose the details of this quest, I can promise you that I will see it finished, and with it, Lord Voldemort's defeat will be assured. But the price is heavy, and I am happy to pay it. _

_ I have one more favor to ask—the last favor. When it happens—and I am certain that it will—please be there for Hermione. Help her achieve her dreams. She can make the world a better place. I'm certain of it. _

_ Harry_

Minerva wiped the tears from behind her spectacles. She read the letter twice, convincing herself the words on the parchment couldn't possibly be saying the things she read. But they were. Hands shaking violently, she examined the attached parchment and read the scribbled heading:

_The Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter_

The parchment slipped from her fingers and landed on the desk without a noise and McGonagall buried her face into her folded arms upon the desk and wept. She wished for a countless number of things, but mostly, she wished she had signed Harry's Hogsmeade letter.

**Author's Notes: **Next chapter - Magic Always Leaves Traces (an Alan Rickman tribute). Stay tuned.


	23. Magic Always Leaves Traces

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Magic Always Leaves Traces**

Kreacher had outdone himself, Harry admitted as he sat down at the kitchen table that groaned under the ornate Goblin-made porcelain plates laden with every familiar choice: roast beef, sausages, steak and kidney pie, roasted potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, heaps of every vegetable, and a flagon of pumpkin juice. Arthur had elected to stop by after work so the three of them invited him for dinner.

"Was there any trouble at the station, dad," asked Ron as loaded his plate with one of everything.

"Nothing out of the ordinary these days," said Arthur. "They're watching us—closely—but so far they've stayed their hand. You-Know-Who wants a smooth transition and he knows we're not much of a threat at the moment. He believes without Dumbledore leading the Order and with you effectively gone underground, we can't give much resistance. Of course, they're keeping your break-in at the Ministry quiet. On the one hand, Umbridge wanted to further the Ministry's smear campaign against you, but Thicknese overruled her; they don't want the public to know you're actively fighting against the Ministry."

"But we're not fighting the Ministry," protested Harry.

"Of course not," said Arthur quickly. "But you have to think how it looks to everybody else. Remember, Scrimgeour's death hasn't been reported; most think he left into a quiet retirement. They don't know You-Know-Who effectively runs the Ministry."

"But you're telling people the truth, right, dad," asked Ron.

"When we can," said Arthur taking a drink. "But it's risky and it's getting harder to do so every day. The Ministry has repelling wards against silencing spells of any kind, so we can't simply hole up in a room and hope no one's listening because they are. I hate admitting it, but You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters have us effectively grounded. We might have lost our advantage within the Ministry but there is plenty to do outside it. We haven't given up yet." He looked at Harry as he said this, giving a full-hearted smile.

Harry nodded to Mr. Weasley and proceeded to pick at his plate, the steak and kidney pie no longer appealing to his appetite. Not for the first time that day did his mind turn to Horcruxes. They were the only keys to victory they had. And yet, despite finally laying hands upon one of them, they still had no means of destroying it. Most frustrating of all however, was the lack of leads to finding the next one. And so here was Harry's first test as he listened to Arthur relay the Order's limited effectiveness; they were losing the war and he, Harry—the Chosen One—was sitting at a bountiful table of food and in the company of friends while Muggleborns were escorted to Azkaban and Lord Voldemort expanded his influence over Magical Britain.

And then he was angry; angry that Dumbledore had not given more and angry that Dumbledore had blindly trusted Snape. He was angry that Dumbledore had left nothing but a dysfunctional Snitch, a Deluminator, an old book of children's tales and a promised sword hidden away in some unknown location. He was angry that he could do nothing but patiently wait as Hermione scoured a multitude of historical books, searching for any clue that nudged them forward. And he hated this house.

Then his anger gave way to a sharp stabbing pain in his forehead. Harry had little warning as he reached up unconsciously to brace his splitting forehead in his hands. He was no longer safely inside Grimmuald Place but instead soaring over the Black Lake. Hogwarts castle loomed in the distance, its silhouette strangely dark as only the windows of the Great Hall were illuminated by the flickering candlelight inside. But his destination was not the castle. He landed softly on the shore, his back to the castle overlooking the tiny island on the lake. There, alone on the uninhabited island was the pristine white tomb of his enemy, blindingly bright beneath the reflection of the moon. He felt a slim smile spread across his face. A victory long denied him. But he had not come to gloat over the grave of the Muggle-loving fool; he would do so only when he accomplished destroying the very person the old fool had put before victory—Harry Potter. Not that the fool would have won had he sacrificed the boy, he thought to himself. He was immortal after all. No, that happy day would wait. He had waited several decades already. He could wait a few more months. His query stood at the edge of the Black Lake only meters away.

"Felling sentimental, Severus," he asked, stepping beside his faithful servant.

"Milord," said Snape, bowing. "What service can I be to you this evening?"

"You may relax, Severus," he said lazily, looking over the lake. "However, you did not answer my question."

"Apologies, milord," said Snape, his eyes darting from the tomb to his master. "I was merely recalling the many missed opportunities I had to end his life this past year. I regret that I didn't do it sooner."

"Everything comes in time, Severus," he said. "You have done well and Lord Voldemort will continue to reward his faithful servant. Let thoughts of the old fool linger no more; you have pleased Lord Voldemort in your actions. Besides, I wanted Draco to have his chance to prove his worth to me. He is every bit his father—an imbecile—but at least a capable one. He did manage to thwart the Muggle-loving fool's protection around the castle."

"Forgive me, Milord," said Snape, his tiny black eyes not quite meeting his Master's, "You praise Draco for his ingenuity, yet he remains punished with his father? Surely, Milord, Draco has proven he is more valuable than Lucius?"

"You are concerned for the boy, Severus," he asked silkily. "I have given him his just reward; I have spared his family. That is what he wanted and Lord Voldemort did not disappoint."

"Of course, Milord," said Snape quickly. "I did not mean to imply you were unfair to him, Milord, but that perhaps he can be of further use to you. It seems a waste to have him locked away at the manor like his father."

"Perhaps," he said with a new quietness in his voice. "But Draco has not yet committed in his heart, Severus. He joined out of spite and a desire to save his parent's worthless lives. I have no need for yet another Wormtail in my Death Eaters. Do not worry yourself over him, Severus, for Lord Voldemort has a plan to prove his loyalty. The boy will have nothing to fear as long as he abides in my wishes."

"Milord is merciful," said Snape with another bow.

"And how does Hogwarts fare, Severus?"

"The Sorting is finished," said Snape. "Ravenclaw and Slytherin's ranks swelled the most. Few were admitted to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff."

"That is not unexpected," he said, but in truth, he was still disappointed. "I long for the day when there are no houses but that of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. We shall take only the worthy. Patience, my friend, and Hogwarts will soon be the bastion of purity and strength it was meant to be."

"I eagerly await the day, Milord."

"And what of Dumbledore's remaining faithful," he asked.

"They say little, Milord," replied Snape. "They have not openly resisted. I will not lie, however; my appointment to Headmaster has given them new reason to hate me."

"Ah, yes," he said with a satisfied smile. "Irony of ironies, is it not, Severus? You who murdered their beloved headmaster now preside over the office he never should have held. But you must persevere, my faithful servant. I do not wish to remove them from the castle unless I have no other alternative. They will learn their place."

"Yes, Milord."

"No sign of Potter," he asked.

"None, Milord," said Snape quickly. "Nor his two friends."

"Disappointing," he said with a soft hiss, "though not unexpected. I had briefly hoped he would be arrogant enough to believe he was yet safe inside these castle walls. Perhaps he has realized precious few remain that are willing to stand between him and Lord Voldemort."

"Potter is arrogant," agreed Snape, "however, it is possible he read about my appointment. He knows what I am. He would not willingly submit to my authority."

"That is also true," he agreed. "Still, it is possible he may try to reach those sympathetic to his cause; do not let your guard down."

"Never, Milord," said Snape. The potion's master opened his mouth to speak but immediately decided against it.

"You may speak freely, Severus," he said.

"Thank you, Milord," said Snape. "I wonder if the rumors are true; that Potter snuck into the Ministry and helped one of the Muggleborns escape her punishment?"

"A feat he did not accomplish without help," he sneered. He hated any idea that Potter was capable of doing anything single-handedly. That wasn't Potter. Potter was mediocre at best, hiding behind men and women far greater than himself. Only he knew Potter's true nature. Coward.

"Of course not, Milord," said Snape. "Potter is talentless."

"Naturally," he said, regaining his composure. "But his purpose still confuses me, Severus."

"In what way, Milord?"

"Why now," he asked. "There have been several Muggleborn hearings. Why Mary Cattermole? She has no relation to the boy. What purpose does he believe he accomplished in freeing a lowly thief?"

"I cannot say, Milord," said Severus. "Although it would not be above Potter to exact some small amount of revenge on Dolores Umbridge—she was the source of great discomfort for him during Fudge's last year in office."

"Perhaps," he said, waving the discussion aside. "It is pointless exercise to conjecture the thoughts of a child's mind." He did not intend to get angry. Oh, but the boy could make his blood boil. However, he could see that Severus still had something on his mind.

"Speak you mind, Severus," he said. "You have Lord Voldemort's ear. Do not take such privilege lightly."

"Thank you, Milord," said Snape. "One question remains on my mind, if you desire to hear it?"

"Ask your question, Severus."

"Were you successful in your latest endeavor, Milord?"

"Not particularly," he said, a hint of warning covering his words. "But fortune favors Lord Voldemort. I will not be so easily dissuaded in my task. My latest informant proved…useful. I know where to look. I shall have it before I confront Potter again."

"I do not doubt you, Milord," said Snape. "What bidding does Milord have for his servant?"

"You are to remain as you are," he said. "Hogwarts is a pivotal piece in my plan. It must be fully in my control. I am trusting you to ensure the necessary changes are made and without incident. I shall invite the best into our ranks and direct the rest into the places I feel they should go. This task I trust to no one else but you, Severus."

"Milord honors me."

"Very well, Severus, I shall take my leave of you," he said, looking back over the lake. He watched Snape grasp his right forearm and felt another smile rise to his lips. Yaxley.

"It appears Yaxley has news," he said.

"News you have been expecting, Milord?"

"Indeed Severus," he said. "Let us hope for Yaxley's sake it is news that favors Lord Voldemort."

"Harry, can you hear me?" Harry opened his eyes. He was leaning over in his chair, braced by the chair's arm. He felt weak and nauseous.

"You can't keep doing this, Harry," said Hermione. "You can't keep letting him in."

"I'm not," he said, looking to Ron and Arthur. "He…he doesn't know I'm watching him either."

"What do you mean," asked Arthur. "I thought Dumbledore didn't want you inside You-Know-Who's thoughts, Harry?"

"He didn't," said Harry. "But last year Dumbledore said that he was using Occlumency against me. He doesn't know I'm there."

"You mean he doesn't realize it yet," said Hermione.

"Maybe," said Harry, but he doubted Voldemort would realize he was there. Dumbledore has spent considerable time teaching Harry how Voldemort thought. He was arrogant enough to believe his Occlumency skills were far superior to anyone.

"What did you see, Harry," asked Ron.

"He was talking with Snape," said Harry. "They know we were at the Ministry, but they don't know why."

"Thank goodness," said Hermione.

"But he knows we weren't there for Muggleborns," said Harry. "He'll keep looking. Last thing he said was that Yaxley had news for him. Oh, and he warned Snape we might try to come to the castle."

"Fat chance of that happening with Snape as Headmaster," said Ron as he scooped a bowl of chocolate pudding. "I'd sooner share a stall with Moaning Myrtle."

"Yaxley," asked Arthur. "What news does Yaxley have for You-Know-Who?"

"I dunno," said Harry. "He didn't tell Snape." Just saying his name made Harry's stomach crawl. "Snape—he talked about missing chances at killing Dumbledore…he's not one bit remorseful…Dumbledore trusted him."

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Harry," said Hermione. "You tried, remember? It's not your fault Dumbledore didn't listen."

"I know…I just—" but before he could say another word, they heard the yelling voice of Phineas Nigellus beckon from upstairs.

"Potter! Potter! Have you no ears on that small head of yours?"

They bolted up the stairs, thankful that Kreacher had relocated the portrait of Sirius' mother to Regulus' old room where the shouting could not stir her. They entered the room Harry and Ron had shared when Sirius still inhabited the house.

"Ah, you do have ears," said the sly wizard in the portrait, his pointed beard quivering slightly with each word. However, before Harry could respond, Hermione interjected.

"Don't say anything, Harry," she said. "How could we forget—he has a portrait in Dumbledore's office—where Snape is."

"Don't be silly, girl," said Phineas. "Though I must correct you; the office of the Headmaster is no longer Dumbledore's to claim. Severus Snape is the rightful Headmaster of Hogwarts. And I must say, he does these eyes proud. I was getting rather bored by that Muggle-loving fool, Albus Dumbledore."

"Oh, and I suppose you enjoy hearing him lament over all the missed opportunities he had to kill Dumbledore," said Harry. Phineas gave him a strange look.

"I am not at the liberty to discuss the private thoughts or events that may occur within the office of the Headmaster," said Phineas, "but if you silent your tongue for one minute, I have news you might wish to hear."

"How do we know we can trust anything you say," asked Hermione.

"You know full well that you can't, clever girl," said Phineas. "However, you can take comfort in knowing that while I may be sympathetic to the pureblood cause, I am not sympathetic to Death Eaters or that self-inflated over-grown student Tom Riddle. I believe in the superiority of academic thought. That is where you must win the fight, not through the spilling of blood. But I digress. I'll not waste precious words on the ears of youth."

"Then get a move on already," said Ron. "What's so urgent, then?"

"Impertinent," snorted Phineas. "Not to be unexpected from a blood-traitor."

"Out with it," said Harry, pointing his wand at the portrait.

"Ah, yes, the Gryffindor solution at last," said Phineas. "Going to blast my portrait to pieces? Very brave. But then how will you prepare for what's coming?"

"What's coming," asked Harry.

"Death Eaters, of course," said Phineas. "Or is it the Ministry? So hard to tell them apart these days."

"Coming where," asked Arthur.

"Here you dolts," said Phineas dully, "haven't you been listening? I thought I was perfectly clear."

"But how," asked Harry as he shared a worried glance with Hermione. "We put this house under a new Fidelius Charm."

"A smart decision on the whole," acknowledged the sly headmaster, "but even that charm has its weakness. Magic always leaves traces. Surely all those hours with Dumbledore taught you that rudimentary truth, Potter?"

"But how," asked Harry again. "The only people who know are in this room, spare one—and he wouldn't tell a soul. In fact, he can't, because he's not the Secret Keeper."

"And that is your fatal flaw," said Phineas with a confident smile. "You assume the Fidelius is broken only by word of mouth, or the written instruction given solely by the Secret Keeper."

"Explain," demanded Harry.

"I don't have time for this pointless exercise," said Phineas, turning to leave. "Suffice it to say that Everard—that brown-nosed goody-goody—couldn't help himself and overheard Ministry officials preparing to arrive here within the half hour. And trust me; they know the location—precisely. I'd wish you a good day but that hardly seems appropriate." Phineas left and all that remained was the black felt background of the portrait.

"You need to go now," said Arthur. "We can't take chances. Quickly, gather what you need. I'll stand guard at the door. Hurry." Hermione took the empty portrait from the wall and they left the room and descended down the stairs. In less than five minutes, Hermione had returned all her books and the few strewn items about the living room table back into the confines of her magically extended handbag. A few minutes later they met Arthur in the narrow hallway at the front door.

"There's two of them waiting across the street," said Arthur, looking through the peep hole in the door. They're looking right at the door. Phineas was right—they know we're here. They're no doubt waiting for backup."

"How do we get out then," asked Harry.

"Kreacher can take Master and his friends from the house," said Kreacher. "Kreacher knows a place where Master and his friends can Disapparate away safely."

"That will work," said Arthur. "Are we all ready?" The three of them nodded. Harry hated Grimmauld Place, but he was sad to leave it. Not because it had ever been home, but because it had been the last tangible link to his Godfather. Before Harry had another thought, he was whisked away as the once unwelcoming hallway of Grimmauld Place blurred into darkness.

**() () ()**

"They've left, Heamaster," said Phineas. "Though if they'd argued any longer they would no doubt be less fortunate."

"Potter is fortunate indeed," said Snape, pacing between the sleeping portraits. He showed no emotion other than deep thought. Only two portraits were awake.

"It really is a shame that my great-great-grandson did not have the foresight to not write down the address in his will to Potter."

"What other choice did he have, Phineas," asked Dumbledore. "Had he not designated a successor for the house, even the Fidelius would not have prevented Bellatrix from inheriting it, thus voiding the charm. I suppose with the Ministry takeover, Dolores found the task of locating the will simple enough. Even if a new Fidelius was performed, it would not override an already written document containing the address."

"Loathed as I am to admit it, this was not Potter's blunder," said Snape. "I am equally loathed to admit Black cannot be faulted for his hand either. There is a risk in every magic; no spell is flawless or without consequence."

"Where are they now, Severus," asked Dumbledore.

"I do not know," admitted Snape. He looked to Phineas.

"Don't look at me," he said with an upturned lip. "Though that Mudblood Granger is clever—she had the foresight to take my portrait from the wall."

"Do not use that offensive term in my presence, Phineas," said Snape murderously. "You've been warned. I'm not as tolerant as Dumbledore." Dumbledore chuckled mirthfully in his portrait. Professor Black huffed indignantly and left his frame, leaving Snape and Dumbledore alone.

"Potter has contacted Minerva," said Snape after a minute or two of silence.

"How do you know this?"

"I was in her office, concealed of course," said Snape. "I saw that wretched house-elf of Black's. He delivered a letter. I read it over her shoulder. Potter knows, Dumbledore." There was a pause, but Dumbledore did not respond. Snape continued. "He gave instructions to Minerva to carry out his last requests. She did not read them. I couldn't be bothered. I don't need to read it to know he left everything to Granger."

"I am confident he would not have left the Weasleys with nothing," said Dumbledore finally.

"Trivial," said Snape. "My point is that he knows, Dumbledore. I was under the impression it was my unfortunate duty to tell him the truth. I am half of mind to believe you changed your mind."

"I did," admitted Dumbledore. "It should never have been your responsibility, Severus. And from what you told me, it seems Harry has made his choice."

"It was my understanding he didn't have one—that he was to die at the right time."

"That was the conclusion you made," said Dumbledore pointedly, "though not an inaccurate one. I wanted him to have the choice, Severus, so I told him everything."

"You wouldn't have happened to tell him your death was pre-arranged?"

"I do not know," he said. "That depends on Harry entirely."

"What do you mean," asked Snape. "You just said you told him everything—how can you have no recollection of telling him the truth about me, Dumbledore?"

"Since when did you care what Harry thought of you?"

"Never," said Snape. "But I care about my innocence."

"Naturally," acknowledged Dumbledore. "The truth is I left a memory for him to view. Quiet ingenious, really. It exists temporarily, expiring once its contents are poured into a Pensieve. Unfortunately, the memory would only last for a limited time once activated. This is why I do not know if Harry is aware of your innocence or not. I certainly had that knowledge in the memory, but if the conversation did not go in that direction…"

"Then he will be none the wiser," said Severus quietly. "Yes, a brilliant plan, Dumbledore. Give Potter a memory and hope he will know the questions to ask. You put too much faith in him."

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore with a broad smile. "But I think it more likely you put too little of faith in him."

"News from the Ministry," said Everard, appearing in his portrait.

"Proceed," said Snape.

"They were furious," said Everard. "They brought the hole place down. It's gone."

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore. "Poor Phineas. He'll be devastated."

**Author's Notes: **Hope you all liked the twist on the Fidelius. When I first read Hallows, I thought for sure this was going to be the loop hole. I don't think re-performing the charm over the same house would over-ride an already written and preserved document that contained the address. Maybe it's a bit of a stretch, but at least it's far more interesting than Yaxley simply clinging to Hermione's ankle. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed it.


	24. Familiar Surroundings

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Familiar Surroundings**

"Hermione, where are we," asked Harry. Looking up, he could see the splintered reflections of the moon through the dark canopy of leaves. Beneath him, he heard the crunch of the first fallen autumn leaves as he took a few steps forward. They were surrounded by the dark silhouettes of trees. His first thought had been the Forbidden Forest, but he knew almost immediately that wasn't quite right for the gaps between the numerous trees were far too wide and the roots were concealed safely beneath the ground.

"We've been here before," answered Hermione. She surveyed the dark forest with sadly. "This is where we camped during the Quidditch World Cup. I don't know why, but it's the first place I thought about—I wanted somewhere enclosed, somewhere miles away from any settlements or towns. Now that I think about it, it makes sense in a sort of poetic way. This is where it all began; the acquitted Death Eaters, the Dark Mark reappearing in the sky after more than a decade…"

"I prefer to remember the actual Quidditch match, Hermione," said Ron. "It wasn't all bad, was it?"

"No, of course not," she said quickly. "I was just thinking out loud. Harry, Ron, you can set up the tent while I start with the protective enchantments."

"Tent," asked Harry.

"In here," she said, handing him her handbag.

"Of course," said Harry. He used a Summoning Charm instead of rummaging through the bag. The tent shot out from the charmed hand bag in a pile of canvas, rope, and poles. Harry immediately recognized the tent as the very same one they had slept in the night of the Quidditch World Cup. Harry nearly asked Hermione how she had managed to acquire Perkins' tent but almost immediately found himself captivated as she circled them, her wand waving in a variety of motions. He caught flickers of distortions in the air as invisible substances took their shapes.

"_Salvio Hexia," _she chanted as a brief flicker of white light pulsed around them.

"_Protego Totalum_." Harry felt an electric charge beneath his feet.

"_Repello Muggletum_." Harry watched the leaves rustle as though a gust of wind had blown over them.

"_Muffliato_," she whispered, flicking her wand in a downward motion. A discernable haze fell over the forest a short distance away.

"_Cave Imunicium_," she said, this time with a skyward flourish. A dome shaped silver glow illuminated their small clearing beneath the trees and vanished. Harry was so engrossed in Hermione's spell work he hardly noticed Ron struggling with the tent.

"A little help here, Harry," said Ron as he seated one of the long poles into the canvas loops.

"Right, sorry," he said, shaking his head. "Sometimes I forget how good she is, you know, with spells." Ron grunted his agreement as he began seating another pole. Half an hour later, the tent had taken a lazy shape.

"Good enough, you reckon," asked Ron, admiring their work.

"You don't think it will just fall over, do you," he asked eyeing his corner. He was quite certain it shouldn't lean inwards.

"Nah," said Ron. "We might be rubbish at tent building, but it's still a magical tent."

"I've done as much as I can do," said Hermione joining them. "It won't keep Death Eaters or You-Know-Who out but we'll know when they're coming." She stood then, inspecting the boys' handiwork with an amused expression and giggled.

"Spit it out," said Ron. "Reckon you could've done better?"

"If only you had a wand," she said amusedly. Ron gave her a dumbfounded look.

"Honestly, are you a wizard or not, Ronald," she asked with a heavy sigh and finally it hit Harry. He felt his cheeks widen into a large grin.

"I think she's just had a bit of fun on your expense, Ron," said Harry.

"It's not like you thought to use a wand either, Harry," retorted Ron.

She sighed, flicked her wand in a quick, jab-like motion.

"_Erecto,_" she said. In one fluid motion, their poorly constructed tent rose into the air as all the imperfections rippled and reformed into their proper shape and settled onto the ground once more as the tent pegs floated overhead before penetrating the ground at the corners of the tent.

"Honestly, Harry, I think you and I should just go on holiday," said Ron with a smile. "Hermione has things well under control here." They were silent for a moment, the noises of the forest easily heard despite the noise charms Hermione had enacted. Then the three broke into laughter for the first time that evening.

"Let's get inside," she said. The interior was exactly as Harry remembered: a small flat complete with a modest bathroom and tiny kitchen, both located to either side of a small sitting area in the center with a tiny wood stove. To the rear of the tent were two small bedrooms, the ceilings of which reached quite high with triple stacked bunk beds.

"I'll make us some tea," said Hermione after setting her handbag down on the old rickety table. She rummaged through the only two cupboards and found a kettle and several dusty mugs. They sat in silence as they waited for the kettle to boil. When it did, Ron finally spoke.

"Harry, why did you send Kreacher back to Hogwarts," he asked. "Couldn't he have come with us? I mean, he's been loads of help lately."

"We can't move about the country side with a house-elf in tow, Ron," said Harry. "If we really need him, I can summon him, but I'd rather Kreacher stayed at Hogwarts, for several reasons."

"You want him to spy on Snape, don't you," asked Hermione pouring hot water into each mug.

"I thought of doing just that, but I don't think it's wise," said Harry. "If he's caught, Snape will know immediately. It's better if he just goes about Hogwarts business as usual. And I can't trust him enough to not give us away. He knows about the locket. We can't risk Snape getting that information out of Kreacher if he's caught spying. Don't forget that Snape is a master Legilimens."

"Pity," said Ron. "So we're on our own for meals, then?"

"I have some provisions in the bag," said Hermione. "Some dried meats, crackers, pastries, things like that. It should hold us over for a little while. I've put a preservation charm on the pastries and other perishables so they won't spoil. I'll move them into the cold box in the morning. If we'd had more time, I could have grabbed more."

"No, it will do," said Harry. "You did brilliantly, Hermione." She gave him a short, warm smile.

"So what do we do now," asked Ron.

"There's little we can do tonight," said Hermione, taking her first sip of hot tea. Harry nodded his agreement but felt uneasy. While they had finally retrieved the locket, the weight of how far they still had to go lingered over him. They had no means of destroying the locket. They had no leads in locating another Horcrux. Everywhere Harry looked was met with a dead end.

"Do we really need the sword to destroy the Horcrux," asked Ron. "Didn't Kreacher say something about opening the locket to destroy it?"

"Fiendfire can destroy a Horcrux, but I don't much fancy trying it out," said Hermione. "It's a terribly dangerous spell. If you can't control it…"

"Oh, right," said Ron.

"Besides, Dumbledore would have been perfectly capable of using Fiendfire and elected to use the sword instead," observed Hermione. "I think we should follow his example."

"We should at least try and figure out how to open the locket," said Harry.

"That could be risky," warned Hermione. Harry understood her hesitation. Tom Riddle's diary immediately came to mind.

"I understand your worry, Hermione, but I don't think the locket will be anything like the diary," said Harry. "Remember that Tom created the diary with the purpose of opening the Chamber of Secrets. I think if I learned anything from those late nights with Dumbledore, it was that the rest of his Horcruxes were intended to protect his soul fragments and nothing else. Of course, we shouldn't rule out anything—we definitely need to be careful." Even as he said this, however, Harry remembered the powerful longing he felt from the locket. It had called to him from within Grimmauld the night they had escaped the Ministry. Still, what choice did they have?

"Well, if we're not doing anything else, I think I'll call it a night," said Ron.

"Alright," said Harry. "I think it'd be a good idea to take it in turns to keep a lookout. I'll take the first watch," he added, seeing Ron's disappointed look. He gave Harry a grateful look though once he'd realized he wouldn't be taking the first watch.

"You should rest too," said Harry, looking to Hermione.

"I'm not ready for bed just yet," she answered. "Would you like more tea?"

"Sure," said Harry. Hermione filled his mug with more steaming hot water and dropped the tea bag into the almost boiling liquid. He moved his wobbly wooden chair near the entrance of the tent so we he could watch from the opening. Hermione likewise moved her chair beside him.

"You really should get some sleep," said Harry, taking the offered tea.

"No, I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," she said honestly. "As horrible as Grimmauld Place was, at least it was safe. Now we're sleeping in the country side and I've never felt more exposed."

"We can't stay in the same place for a more than a few days at a time either," he admitted.

"No, especially with the Snatchers out and looking for runaway Muggleborns," acknowledged Hermione. "It feels real now, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean," asked Harry.

"Well, we've always been inside Hogwarts, haven't we," she began, holding her steaming mug in both hands. "You-Know-Who was moving in the shadows then. Sixth year we were as safe as can be expected, shielded by Dumbledore and the walls of Hogwarts castle. Even after the Death Eaters crashed the wedding, we were once again taking shelter inside Grimmauld. But here in these woods, inside this small tent, I truly feel as though we've finally stepped out into the night and there's no more running, no more hiding, and no adults readily accessible for help. I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"I like it when you ramble," said Harry. "And you're right; we're in it now. Though, I really think you should call him Tom."

"I don't think that I can," she said. "Tom sounds like a name of a person and he's not really a person anymore, is he? He despised humanity. It seems wrong to acknowledge he was once a student, a Prefect, Head Boy, admired by teachers and peers alike. Not after everything he's done…all the lives he's ruined…"

"I know what you mean," said Harry. "But I think Dumbledore had it right; using his real name, not the one he fashioned for himself or that stupid moniker everyone else insists on changes the relationship between us and him. It puts us back on equal ground."

"Are we though," she asked quietly. "Are we on equal ground, Harry? He has decades of magic on us. I think about the cave you and Dumbledore went too; we can't even imagine doing magic like that. How are we supposed to beat him, Harry?"

"We can't give up," said Harry. He shook his head. Usually he was the one with doubts. Hermione always pushed forward, always found the solution. It felt strange to be the one reassuring her when it was usually her giving him the courage to keep going.

"Tom's weakness is that he thinks he knows everything," said Harry, recalling that crucial late-night conversation with Dumbledore. "Dumbledore always told me that Tom underestimates that which he does not value. He underestimated the abilities of a house elf and it cost him dearly. We can beat him. And if we do, it will be because of you."

"If there's anyone he underestimates, it's you," she responded, he cheeks flushed pink and red.

"I don't think that's true," said Harry quickly. "Think about it, Hermione; how many times has he managed to force me into dangerous situations? How many times have I played right into his hands? He knows who I am and he knows my weaknesses. I'm hot-tempered and impatient. I act without thinking about the consequences I'll face or worse, the consequences I bring on my friends."

"You've beaten him every time," Hermione argued. "And we knew the risks, Harry. I've told you this I don't know how many times."

"I've been lucky, Hermione," he said holding up his hands, "because I have something he doesn't—something he threw away before he even thought to try and understand it. It's not me Tom underestimates; it's you lot." He reached over and briefly, gently grasped her forearm. He tried to reassure her with a smile—one he meant genuinely. He had his doubts too, if he was honest—doubts he knew Hermione was quite familiar with—they were not secret. Despite his words, he could tell Hermione wanted to reject his modesty. Before she could convey her thoughts, however, Harry added: "He underestimated a Muggleborn the night he lost his powers; he'll underestimate you too."

"Your mother was incredibly brave," she said at last after a long silence settled between them. "I don't deserve to be considered her equal, Harry."

"She was brave," admitted Harry. "So was dad. They all were. I never had the chance to know mum, but from everything I've heard the others tell me, I think you're a lot like her: intelligent, brave, loyal, and beautiful." Hermione's blush darkened. But Harry hadn't finished.

"She didn't have to die for me; she had a chance to live, but she didn't move. Just like you the night we met Sirius." Harry stared out into the forest while he spoke. "You stood between me and Sirius. You were ready to die for me. If Sirius had been who we thought him to be, you would have, just like mum. That moment will stay with me for the rest of my life, Hermione. If you ever doubt that you're strong, or brave, I hope you know that I will never doubt you, your intelligence, your loyalty, or your courage, because in that moment, you were more courageous than when Dumbledore stood between me and Tom. You are every bit my mother's equal, Hermione." Harry turned to Hermione now and could the glistening tears that welled in her eyes. He pulled her into a one-armed hug as she rested her head on his shoulder. Neither sought to break the silence that fell over the tent and the need for any further words was lost in the midst of their presence. Harry knew doubt would follow them to the end. As long as he had Hermione, he knew they would not fail. After an hour or so had passed, Harry spoke again.

"I think you're ready for bed," he said, eyeing her closed eyes.

"I'm not tired," she mumbled. "I'm comfortable."

"Go on," he insisted. She opened her eyes lazily. The skin beneath her eyes were slightly red and puffy, but her tears had long evaporated. She took both their tea mugs over to the sink. Before she retreated to her room, she walked back over to Harry and kissed him on the cheek. Harry felt warmth spread across his face with Hermione's tender kiss. A kiss far more tender than any of Ginny's.

"You don't have to keep watch all night," she said walking away. "The enchantments will tell us if anyone gets close. You need sleep too."

"Alright, I will," he said. "Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Harry."

He silently reprimanded himself as he gently felt his cheek once she left him at the doorway of the tent. He meant every word. He imagined another world where Tom didn't exist, where his parents had lived and they had gotten to know his two best friends. He knew they would have loved and accepted both of them, though he believed his parents would have adored Hermione. His dad would have immediately recognized her fierce loyalty and astounding intelligence—the very same traits Harry felt confident had drawn his father to his mother—while finding amusement in Hermione's insistence to obey the rules. His mother, on the other hand, would have found Hermione's compassion, moral conviction, and courage contagious. Harry was rarely sure of anything about his parents, but this he knew; they would have loved her as much as he did. He felt his heart swell while he entertained his imaginary world.

He imagined Sunday lunch: Hermione and both mums curled on the couch bathed in sunlight, each with a book in their lap as they spoke of subjects far and beyond his comprehension while he and both dads sat in the kitchen talking of Quidditch or perhaps a Muggle sport when they would have easily been contented to watch and be captivated by the women of their lives. Yes, Harry admitted. Life would have been different if Tom had never lived and visited Godric's Hollow. Just maybe—Harry allowed himself to imagine—maybe everything would have been different.

Harry shook his head. Those thoughts lead him to a dangerous place—a forbidden place. It was a dream he shouldn't—couldn't entertain. For even if those thoughts were not forbidden territory, they could never be reality because his parents had not survived Godric's Hollow and he too had a quickly approaching expiration date. He knew Dumbledore wanted him to hope, to believe he could survive once more, but in the depth of his heart he knew how it must end. His eyes grew heavy as his thoughts carried him away.

He felt electric excitement pulse through his veins as he bent down to eye level with the white-haired old man. Fear lingered in every aged line on his face. Harry smiled; this suited him perfectly. He held his wand to the old man's throat, pushing aside the rounded pure-white beard to expose the flesh of his neck.

"_You know what I seek, Gregorovitch,"_ he whispered in a high pitch. "_I know you have it. Give it to me…and you will be rewarded. You cannot hide it from me…Lord Voldemort will have what he seeks. Try to keep it from me…and you will suffer horrific death, Gregorovitch._"

"_I don't have it,_" Gregorovitch pleaded. "_Stolen decades ago…I know him not._"

"_Lies,_" he said, no longer whispering. "_Do not lie to Lord Voldemort_."

Harry moved closer to the old man, his own eyes locked with the wide, fearful gaze of the old man, his dark pupils swelling until that was all he could see—

Now he ran along the dark corridor in pursuit of a much younger, fitter Gregorovitch. He observed the flickering lantern light bounce off the rough stone of the workshop walls, illuminating the wood shavings that littered the floor. He watched Gregorovitch stumble forward as the lantern light exposed the perched silloutted figure in the window. A young face with golden hair looked back at him, framed by the window, the lantern light catching the gleeful glimmer in his hungry eyes. Gregorovitch hurled a Stunning Spell after the intruder but was too slow. The thief jumped from the window with a fit of laughter and was gone.

"_Who was the thief, Gregorovitch,_" demanded Harry. Gregorovitch gave him a blank stare. Harry raged. He brought his wand from the man's throat to the center of his chest and pushed against his rib.

"_Tell me!_"

"_I don't know,_" pleaded Gregorovitlch. "_Please,_ _I don't know—he was a young man—no, please!_" Harry felt the excitement build in his chest.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _He smiled as the old man's last scream echoed in the workshop and the green light faded—

"Harry!"

He opened his eyes, his breathing heavy and his forehead splitting in pain. He had slipped from his chair and was now flat on his back on the tent floor, staring up at Hermione and to his surprise, Ron.

"Are you alright, Harry," she asked, holding out a hand for him to take. Together, she and Ron helped Harry back to his chair and allowed Harry to regain his bearings.

"I…I think so," Harry answered, ignoring the tingling in his scar. Instead, he found Hermione's gaze and relayed what he'd seen."

"You see what this means, don't you," said Harry, once he'd finished. "He found Gregorovitch and now he's dead. Tom's looking for whatever the thief stole from Gregorovitch."

"I wish you would try and learn Occlumency, Harry," said Hermione sadly.

"I'm rubbish at it and you know it," said Harry with a shrug. "As much as I really hate Snape, I think he was right about my ability to learn Occlumency; I can't shut off my emotions to do it properly."

"But what if he looks inside your mind, Harry," she asked.

"I told you, he's using Occlumency against me," said Harry. "He doesn't know it's happening again and it's not like I'm trying to hang out in his mind, you know. It's not exactly pleasant."

"Right, so he's not after wand makers like we thought," said Ron after a minute and was sure Hermione had nothing further to say on the matter. "If he was, why did he kill Gregorovitch?"

"He's after something they know about," said Harry. "I thought he was looking for a way around our shared cores, and maybe he still is, but whatever it is, I don't think it's something the wand makers can do for him."

"We can think about it more in the morning," said Hermione. "Harry, go and lie down and get some sleep."

"I'm fine," he said, "I won't be able to sleep after what I just saw."

"You're exhausted," protested Hermione. "Go on, to bed, now." The look she gave Harry dared him to challenge. Harry, recognizing defeat, nodded and followed Ron back to the room on the left. He watched from the second bunk as Hermione too entered her room. He peeked at his pocket watch; it would be dawn in a few short hours.

Who was the thief, Harry wondered as he felt once more the heaviness of his eyelids. He was sure he had seen the man before. Where or when, he wasn't sure. But it was clear to Harry as sleep threatened to overcome him that the thief's life was in danger.


	25. Hope Found in the Darkest Place

**Author's Note:** Moving right along-got a fun twist to a familiar scene, I hope. Not used to having all this writing time and I'll be quite sad to see it go. Still, be on the lookout; I anticipate another chapter by this weekend and if I'm not mistaken, half way through this adventure. Also, the next chapter for Courage Rising is in the works, so if we're really lucky, we'll have a two-chapter release this weekend.

Cheers.

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Hope Found in the Darkest Place**

After a few short hours of sleep, Harry woke to the sound of heavy rain drops against the hard canvas of the tent and Ron's loud, sporadic snoring. He quietly lowered himself from the second bunk, landing with a soft thud as his bare feet met the wood floor. Hermione had wrapped herself in a blanket in the sitting area with a book propped open on her knees and a cup of tea beside her. He also noticed he could no longer hear Ron's snoring.

"I didn't expect you awake so soon," she said as Harry groggily made his way to another chair. Harry smiled weakly as he noticed Hermione's own lack of sleep.

"You never went back to bed, did you," he asked.

"There was little point," she said, pouring him tea. "Would you like a biscuit?" Harry nodded and Hermione offered him a plate with several biscuits.

"Did you cast Muffliato over our room," asked Harry.

"Not until I heard you wake," said Hermione truthfully. "I almost woke the both of you. How did you share a room with him," she asked quietly.

"You don't hear it after a while," answered Harry with a smile. Eventually though, the scent of biscuits and tea had roused Ron from his slumber. Only when the three of them were fed and fully awake did they discuss how to proceed.

Harry felt it was best not to stay anywhere too long and Hermione fully supported him, adding that while her enchantments would keep them reasonably safe and alert, the presence of magic would inevitably make itself known to those who knew what to look for. So, as Hermione packed away the tent and removed the numerous protective enchantments with many complicated wand movements, Harry and Ron worked to conceal any evidence of their visit. They shuffled the shallow gathering of leaves to hide the impressions left behind from the tent and filled the peg holes with loose dirt.

This was their new routine as the month of September crept by. They would find wooded areas on the outskirts of rural towns, or sometimes abandoned barns or sheds where fields stretched for miles, pitching the tent inside. Hermione would recast all her protective charms, always adding new ones she found in the many defensive books she had brought along. They didn't have an excessive amount of funds, having only the Muggle money that Hermione had kept saved up. Harry had a modest amount of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts in the coin bag tucked away in Hermione's handbag, but they did little good in a Muggle convenience store. Still, Hermione was careful and purchased only the barest of necessities.

However, as October arrived, cold mornings and the ever-increasing presence of Dementors gave way to a gloomier outlook. The larger the Muggle town they chose to visit, the colder the air felt, the thicker the fog sunk into the fields and forests and the darker the sky appeared. Rain was frequent now and the deplorable weather only added to their frustrations with the lack of leads and their slowly dwindling food supply.

They had traveled to London only once, their leads all but non-existent, hoping beyond logic and reason that Voldemort might have hidden a Horcrux in his old orphanage. Harry highly doubted this possibility; Voldemort had no love for the orphanage and would have only served as a reminder of the Muggle heritage he'd inherited from the father who had abandoned him before birth. But with no leads and Hermione's insistence not to overlook anything, they had snuck into a public library after dark only to discover the orphanage had long been demolished. Once at the location, they discovered the site occupied with modern office complex.

They spent nearly all of autumn wandering the country-side without any further leads and discouragement taking root. They also discovered after several attempts to open the locket during the many long captive nights inside the tent, they could each feel the Horcrux's presence. Harry felt as though the soul fragment within the locket would latch onto his fear of failure and made him desperate to do anything.

"I really don't feel comfortable lugging this thing around, Harry," Hermione had said one night. "I can almost hear it when everything's quiet. Can you?"

"Yeah, sometimes," said Harry. "It's like it knows my thoughts."

"It makes me feel hungry all the time," said Ron with a grimace. "Even when I've eaten a decent amount it's not enough. And like Harry said…sometimes it's like I hear my own thoughts, but they're loud and repulsive, but at the same time…"

"You want to feel that way," Harry finished. Surprised by own admission, Ron and Hermione both nodded.

"But there's more to it," insisted Hermione. "Have you felt it, Harry?" Harry knew precisely what Hermione spoke of; the unexplainable desire to hold and war the locket was sometimes overwhelming. Harry escaped it only when he left the tent in search of wood or berries. However Harry did not confide in them his worst suspicion; that it was Voldemort's soul fragment that called out to him. The others had expressed the voice as their own thoughts. Harry never heard his own. Always the voice in his head was Lord Voldemort's high-pitched whisper. Harry did not consider it unlikely that the fragment of soul contained within the locket had recognized another portion of soul contained within him.

Midway through October Hermione began to ration their provisions once she estimated they only had enough for a few more weeks. On the whole, the smaller meal portions affected Harry the least, having suffered long stretches of near starvation at the hands of the Dursleys. Therefore, it was less of a surprise to him that Ron adjusted poorly to smaller portions and occasional missed meals as he had always had three square meals a day, courtesy of his mother or the Hogwarts house-elves. Ron's mood was almost directly related to the capacity of which is stomach was filled, often becoming unreasonable and at times downright unpleasant once Hermione started to ration their food.

Hermione suffered too, but she seemed determined to make the best of the situation. She and Harry took it in turns to prepare meals. Often, Hermione would use magic to acquire farm eggs from chicken coops or when they were very lucky, would sneak into a larder, leaving a few crinkled bills as payment. Harry then would take to cooking. Ron, possessing little to no skill in the preparation of food or finding it, would sit on the creaking rocking chair, offering his unwanted critique.

"Mum can make food appear out of thin air," he said, prodding his portion of the charred gray meat of Pike Harry had caught in the river that afternoon.

"No she can't," said Hermione defiantly. "It's not possible."

"Well how does she do it, then, eh?"

"It's the first Principal Exception to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," she said sticking her portion forcibly with a fork. "It's impossible to make food out of nothing. You can Summon it, you can transform it, you can increase the quantity of you've already got it—"

"I wouldn't bother to increase this," said Ron, pushing his plate away.

"You know, Harry and I are always the ones to sort out the food, Ron," said Hermione with narrowed eyes. "The least you can do is show a little appreciation for our efforts." In Ron's defense, Harry had never been particularly good at cooking fish, and therefore had always been the one meal Aunt Petunia always took upon herself to prepare. Still, Hermione was right; Ron's blatant displeasure was getting on his nerves as much as Hermione's.

"I'm just saying it's not particularly good," said Ron. "You don't have to jump down my robe over a bit of honesty." This was the wrong thing to say.

"You can do the cooking tomorrow, Ron; you can find the ingredients, cook and charm them into something worth eating, and Harry and I will sit here and pull faces and moan and tell you how much better your mum makes it!" Hermione rose from the chair and left the tent.

"Harry doesn't like it either," Ron had yelled after her. Harry shook his head at Ron.

"No one likes it much, you know," said Harry. "You promised me you were going to be better with her, Ron."

"Well she's not making it easy, is she?"

"You're not giving her any reason too either."

"And you're not doing a brilliant job leading us to Horcruxes, are you?"

"We're doing the best we can, mate."

"I just thought after all this time we'd have made some real progress!"

"We've found one, Ron," said Harry sadly, though he too felt the displeasure from his own lack of direction. "But this isn't her fault."

"You're right about that," mumbled Ron. Harry shook his head again and silently excused himself from the table and went looking for Hermione. She was standing a ways from the tent, looking off into the trees. Harry walked up beside her and was about to speak but Hermione held her hand up to silence him. Her face was flushed red and Harry could see the tears dripping from the edges of her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said softly, placing a hand briefly on her shoulder and turned to leave her alone. Sometimes people needed to be left alone. Harry understood that need better than anyone. He wanted to return to the tent and throttle Ron, but knew it wouldn't make the situation any better. The truth was Dumbledore had left them a seemingly insurmountable task. He was a frustrated with himself as Ron felt and as frustrated with Dumbledore as Hermione was likely feeling at the moment.

However, thoughts of Dumbledore were frequently replaced by thoughts of Gregorovitch's thief with each passing night. Harry found himself flitting into Voldemort's mind more and more frequently as he slept—if he could call it that—and would often trickle into the daytime hours. He was more than aware of the bags building up beneath his eyes from lack of deep sleep. The prickling of his scar during the day had likewise become so common he was almost numb to it. Still, the prickling would sometimes cause him to flinch or close his eyes tightly and this rarely went unnoticed by Ron or Hermione.

"What did you see," demanded Ron on almost every occurrence. Harry however, could only give him one answer.

"Same as last time, Ron," he said with a frustrated sigh, "the thief who stole from Gregorovith." Hermione, on the other hand, was at least a little sympathetic to his constant exposure to Voldemort's mind. She had taken to carrying a washcloth in one of her robe pockets and with a flick of her wand, she would spray a bit of cool water into it, wring it out, and offer it to him to sooth the burning that often accompanied the prickling sensations. But their unending traverse of the country-side was taking its toll upon them as they moved through old forests, the shadows of jagged cliffs, through knee-high fields of dead wild grass and along the footholds of mountainsides. The lack of outside news added pressure too; they were desperate to know anything, to speak to anyone, but they dared not chance lifting a copy of the Daily Prophet or speaking to any magical person out of fear of giving themselves away.

It wasn't until the cold frosty air of November fell over the woods they had taken refuge in did they finally get news, though it had been in the last way expected. Harry and Hermione were gathering wood when they heard the hushed voices echo through the trees. Here at last they could appreciate all the spells Hermione had cast over their little camp each night. The numerous Disillusionment Charms had made them invisible to the passerby as long as they remained still.

A fire danced in the dark, illuminating the small group of travelers. They were too far away to get a good look, but they could hear well enough over the crackling of the campfire. The scent of roasted salmon tempted their nostrils.

"Here, Griphook, Gornuk," said the voice of a man.

"Thank you," said Griphook. Harry doubted he'd ever forget the sound of his voice.

"How long you three been on the run, now," asked a new voice; a voice Harry also thought familiar.

"Harry, that's Ted," whispered Hermione.

"Ted?"

"Tonks' dad," she hissed.

"Six weeks…Seven…don't keep track anymore," said the tired man. "Found Griphook in the first few days and then we met up with Gornuk not too long after that. They make good company in these dark times. Why've you left, Ted?"

"Knew they were coming for me," he said sadly. "Couldn't stay and endanger my wife—she's a pureblood, so I reckon so long as she's careful, the Death Eater's won't give her too much trouble. Besides, she has good folk watching over her, including that fiery daughter of mine. I meant Dean here, what was it, a few days ago, right?"

"Yeah," said a voice they knew well; Dean Thomas, their fellow Gryffindor.

"Muggle-born too, I take it," said the tired man.

"Not sure either way," said Dean. "My dad left me and mum when I was a little guy. I've got no proof he was a wizard though. Mum says he was and I don't think she'd lie. Still, ain't got nothing to give those ministry idiots."

"I'm surprised to see you, Dirk," said Ted after a while. "They said you were caught."

"I was halfway to Azkaban when I made a break for it," said Dirk. "Stunned Dawlish and nicked his broom."

"Isn't he an Auror," asked Ted.

"Not a very good one," said Dirk. "At least not at the moment—might have been Confunded. If so, I'd like to shake the hand of the witch or wizard who did it—probably saved my life."

"What about you, Griphook, Gornuk," asked Ted. "I assumed the Goblins had given in to You-Know-Who."

"Not so," said Griphook. "Your impression is false. We take no sides. This is a wizards' war. We've no interest in it."

"Yet you're hiding," said Ted. "Where's the rest of your clan?"

"Goblins may not bow to the Dark Lord, but Gringotts is no longer under the sole control of my race. I recognize no Wizarding master. This is just as well—wizards are not a particularly observant race either." The Goblins laughed.

"I don't get it," said Dean.

"We're evidently missing something here, Dean."

"So is Severus Snape, though he would not know it," said Griphook.

"They were telling me about it the other day," said Dirk. "Turns out a bunch of students tried to break into Snape's office and steal the sword of Gryffindor."

"Are they out of their mind," asked Ted.

"I thought so too," said Dirk. "Snape got nervous and had the sword moved to Gringotts. Or at least he thinks he did."

"Oh yes," said Griphook. "The sword that resides in Gringotts is Wizard-made—an excellent copy. Only a Goblin would recognize it as a fake."

"And you didn't bother telling the Death Eaters?"

"I saw no reason to trouble them." The whole company laughed.

"So the kids—who were they," asked Ted.

"Griphook told me he heard about it from Bill Weasley—one of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill's younger sister. She and a couple of idiot Gryffindors broke in and smashed open the glass case. They were punished of course."

"What happened to them," asked Dean. "What happened to Ginny?" Harry felt for Dean—he had one time dated Ginny and was sure for some unexplainable reason he still had feelings for her.

"They suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware," said Griphook. "But I doubt their punishment was pleasant."

"Thank Merlin," said Ted. "Last thing the Weasley's need is another kid injured. Still, with Snape's way of doing things, I'm glad they're still alive."

"You really think he killed Dumbledore, Ted," asked Dirk.

"Course I do," he answered. "You don't honestly think Potter did it?"

"Hard to know what to believe these days," muttered Dirk.

"I know Harry Potter," said Dean. "If there's one thing you can believe, it's that he would be the last one to kill Dumbledore. Everyone could see it that night, and after. Harry was devastated. Besides, I believe Harry is the one who will finish You-Know-Who. I think he is the Chosen One."

"Son, there's a lot of folk that want to believe that," said Dirk. "Me included, but where is he now? Run for it by the looks of things. If Potter is the Chosen One or whatever it is they call him these days, he'd be out there fighting, wouldn't he?"

"Just because you haven't heard anything doesn't mean he isn't," said Dean. "I can feel it; he's out there somewhere. If he's not revealed himself it's for good reason. And I'd bet my life that Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley are with him."

"That'd be Arthur's youngest son, right," said Dirk. "I thought he was home sick. Ministry officials confirmed it."

"Oh I wouldn't put it past them to pull a prank like that," said Dean. "And if he really is home sick, I'll still bet my life that Hermione Granger is with him. She's a Muggle-born and she'd follow him to his grave. To be honest, I was always surprised those two weren't a couple. They're the most loyal people I've ever met. Mark my words—Harry's out there, and he's not alone."

Harry was touched at Dean's words. Here Dean was on the run, danger chasing him around the country-side but still had hope that he, Hermione, and Ron were working to stop Voldemort gave him the first happy thought he'd had in weeks.

"Well said, Dean," said Ted. "We have to trust Harry—he's all we have left." Those words felt briefly like honey to his throat, but soured as they entered his stomach. How long would they have to run before Harry could see his burden finished? The run-aways finished the rest of their meal in silence and then extinguished their fire before they retreated into the darkness of the forest and back to the mountainside.

"Hermione—the sword," Harry said at last.

"I know, I know," she said, dropping the bundle of loose branches from her arms.

"Dumbledore said he used the sword to destroy the Horcruxes in that memory he gave me," he said. "But the one in Snape's office is a fake."

"Harry—I just realized—Goblin-made blades imbibe only that which strengthens them! Harry, the sword's impregnated with Basilisk venom. That's why Dumbledore used it on the ring!"

"And he made a copy of the sword—"

"—and put it in the glass case so no one would think otherwise—"

"—and left the real one…"

"Think Harry," said Hermione in a loud whisper. "Where would Dumbledore hide it?"

"Not Hogwarts," said Harry.

"Hogsmeade," suggested Hermione.

"I don't think so," answered Harry. "Maybe the Shrieking Shack?"

"But Snape knows how to get in," countered Hermione. "Wouldn't that be risky?"

"He trusted Snape."

"Clearly he didn't," said Hermione. "Not enough to tell him he swapped the swords."

"Come on, we need to tell Ron," said Harry, feeling the thrill of their first lead in months and comforted that Dumbledore at least had reservations about Snape's trustworthiness. They rushed into the tent and found Ron sitting in a chair just inside the entrance, his expression lingering over them with a foul sneer. However, it was the locket around Ron's neck that caught Harry's gaze.

"Remembered me, have you," said Ron. "Don't let me spoil your fun. Carry on."

"Ron, why are you wearing the locket," asked Hermione, her voice pitched uncomfortably high.

"Wouldn't you like to know."


	26. Fellowship Broken

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Fellowship Broken**

"Ron, please take off the locket," said Hermione. "I…I don't think it's safe to wear…"

"It's no more dangerous than running about the country-side, is it," sneered Ron. "Here I am, freezing my backside off every night, nothing good to eat, and then you two get all jolly about having another damn thing we've got to figure out."

"That's enough, Ron," said Harry, standing between him and Hermione now.

"A little touchy, are we?"

"What's your problem, Ron?"

"We've been running up and down the country for weeks," he said viciously. "I'd thought we'd achieved something by now. All we've done is move from place to place each day and endlessly talk about the places You-Know-Who hid his soul bits and we're no closer than we started."

"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for," said Harry. He balled his hand into a fist but resisted the urge to swing at him. He knew the Horcrux was making Ron's thoughts more explosive; Harry could feel his own rage erupting in the presence of the locket.

"Yeah, well, so did I," said Ron, "but that's nothing new, is it? Stupid Ron Weasley; always in the dark—that's me."

"And what so far isn't living up to your expectations, Ron," asked Harry. He could feel his own anger boil in his chest, spurred on by the Horcrux. He kept calm though, using all the willpower and determination he possessed. "Did you honestly think we'd be fining a Horcrux every other day or that we'd beat Tom by Christmas?"

"I thought you knew what you were doing," shouted Ron, rising to his full height, his face turning as red as the hair on his head. "I thought Dumbledore told you what to do…that you had a real plan!"

"Ron, stop it," said Hermione, her voice cracking.

"Sorry to let you down," said Harry, this time looking down at his feet. He felt Ron's frustration too. He could hear the blood rush in his ears from the frantic pacing of his heart. Then he heard it; a detached voice from the locket.

_He doesn't believe you…_

"I told you everything Dumbledore told me," said Harry, grinding his teeth. "I've been straight with you from the beginning—"

_He doesn't appreciate the success you've had…_

"—and in case you forgot, we've found one Horcrux—"

"Yeah, and we're about as close to destroying it as we are to liberating house-elves, aren't we?"

"Ron," said Hermione, her voice dropping several octaves. "Ron, think what you're saying…you're not yourself…please, please take off the locket...you don't know what you're saying..."

_That's not true…he's been unhappy from the beginning…he didn't want to come…_

"Yes he would," interrupted Harry. "He hasn't stopped complaining since we left the Burrow."

"You'd complain too if you had a family to worry about," snapped Ron. Harry grimaced.

"My family's dead, Ron," said Harry with a dangerous hiss in his voice. He was livid beyond the point to expression. He wanted to hurl his fist into the sneering face of his best mate.

_Is he your best mate?_

"And mine could be going the same way," shouted Ron, not at all bothered by his enraged insensitivity. "Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you? Oh it was all good and well when she was your girlfriend, wasn't it, Harry? Now that you've had what you wanted and decided it wasn't good enough, you can't be bothered."

_He has no idea how much you care…_

"What," responded Harry, "You think I don't care about Ginny, or your mum and dad, or Fred and George?" The truth Harry had struggled so hard to contain threatened to pour from his lips. He was ready to die for every one of them.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," replied Ron with an accusatory finger to Harry's chest. "Didn't you hear what they said? The Weasleys don't need another kid injured, did you hear that?"

"I heard it."

"Didn't bother to wonder what it meant, though?"

"Ron," said Hermione as she pushed her way between Harry and Ron, "think about it…Bill's already scarred; plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to be on your deathbed at home…I'm sure that's all he meant—"

"Right then," said Ron, giving Hermione a look Harry had once seen before; the very look Ron had given him back in the Gryffindor Tower dormitory the night his name came out of the Goblet—loathing and self-indignation. "Well, I won't bother myself about them, then. Since you're _sure_ that's all he meant. It's all right for you—your parents are off to Australia, safe and sound."

Hermione burst into tears.

"Ron, apologize to Hermione, now," bellowed Harry. "You know she had no choice."

"She had every choice," said Ron. "She made the same choice she always does."

"Ron…take off…the locket…p-please."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you," asked Ron who now sported a devilishly smug gleam in his eyes as though he'd just discovered a miraculous secret that far superseded Hermione's hurt feelings. "Clever, brilliant Hermione wants me to take the locket off because she thinks she knows best. But I know something you don't…something you don't want me to know."

"Ron, please," pleaded Hermione.

"I watch you when you don't think I'm looking," he said with venom in each word. "I've seen the way you look at him," he added with anguish in his voice and a sharp nod to Harry. "You couldn't help throwing yourself into this wild goose chase, could you? Not if it was for him."

"Ron, please, take off the locket," cried Hermione. "Please…it's twisting you…"

"You're wrong," said Ron. "You're upset I finally see the truth that brilliant Hermione Granger couldn't hide. You heard Dean; _she'd follow him to the grave_…" He turned his gaze to Harry with utter hatred blazing in his eyes.

"That's rubbish, Ron," said Harry defiantly.

"I wanted to go back to Hogwarts. But she," his eyes darted to Hermione and back again to Harry, "wouldn't have it. If she cared half as much about me as she does for you we'd never have been here in the first place."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Search me."

"Go home, then," said Harry, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. "Go home to mummy and daddy." Ron lunged forward and Harry reacted. Before either of them could draw their wands though, Hermione had already raised her own.

"_Protego,_" she cried, and an invisible shield formed between them, Ron on one side and she and Harry on the other. The spell forced them backward with a mighty hurl, sending Ron to his buttocks while Hermione was pushed into Harry, but they remained standing on their feet. Ron staggered to his feet. Hermione did not release the spell and the three teens simply stared at one another for a long while, each aware that something had broken between them.

"I'm leaving," said Ron after a while. "I'm going home."

"Leave the Horcrux," said Harry. Ron gave him a twisted smile, then unceremoniously lifted the chain over his head and tossed the locket to the wood floor. He turned his gaze to Hermione; Harry saw the longing in his eyes.

"I take it you're staying?"

"Of course I'm staying," said Hermione, her eyes flashing with anguish. "We told Harry we were coming with him…that we'd help him...we both did, Ron."

"I was right," he said, frowning this time. It was the first time he had shown any sadness that evening. "You choose him." And before either he or Hermione could say anything, Ron stormed out the tent and into the forest. With a quick flick of her wand, Hermione wordlessly released the shield charm and followed Ron into the darkness. Harry however, remained still and silent. He listened to Hermione's cries as all the anger in his chest faded. He could still feel the pull from the discarded locket on the floor, but the voice had left once Ron had exited the tent. The reality of the moment crashed upon him in waves now; Ron had left.

Harry picked up the locket and quickly slipped it inside Hermione's handbag without care where it landed. He closed his eyes and readied himself to do what he knew must be done. He stepped out of the tent and spotted Hermione several yards away, her knees buried into the frosty leaves of the forest floor. She was hunched over, her face hidden in both hands as she wept. Harry approached quietly, unsure how she might react. As soon as he reached her side she looked up at him, eyes bloodshot and full of tears. Harry kneeled down and held her. He felt her body stiffen but she didn't push him away.

"He's g-g-gone," she said through dry sobs after a while. "He's D-Disapparated!"

"I know," he whispered. Now that he was away from the Horcrux, the fog of his anger had cleared and his thoughts were once more entirely his own.

"I shouldn't have told him to leave," said Harry.

"No, you shouldn't have," she said.

"He'll come back," he said, but knew in his heart how empty those words were likely to be.

"I don't want him too."

"You don't mean that."

"What if I do, Harry?"

"You know the Horcrux made him say those things."

"But they were still his thoughts—don't make excuses for him. It hasn't been easy for any of us—we've all had similar thoughts—but he chose to act on them. He left, Harry. He left me. He left you. For what, a better meal, a more comfortable bed, to pretend the world is better than it actually is? Damn him and his selfishness."

"I'm the one who told him to leave, Hermione," said Harry. "If anyone's to blame tonight, it's me. He was right; we've hardly made any progress and we're no closer to stopping Tom than we were when we left Grimmauld. And he's worried about his family."

"And I'm not," she said indignantly. Harry dropped his head.

"Don't even think about it, Harry," she said seeing his reaction.

"But it's true, isn't it," he asked. "I don't have parents to worry about, do I?"

"You worry about everyone."

"And yet, none of this would be happening if it weren't for me," he insisted. "We wouldn't be in this musty old tent, on the run, looking for Horcruxes if I had only died at Godric's Hollow."

"Don't say that," she said with sharp intake of air.

"And you and Ron might still be…"

"Ron and I were never going to work, Harry," she said vehemently. "I told you ages ago."

"And you wouldn't have had to send your parents away," he continued as though not having heard her. He met her gaze and said the painful truth. "Go home before it's too late, Hermione—find your parents—find Ron—that's all that matters."

He couldn't hide it from himself; Dumbledore had left precious little. Harry wanted to rage at the headmaster, only to remember that Dumbledore himself had known little more than he did. They had journeyed together those many nights through the mire of guesswork and only appreciated the difficulty of the task once Harry had attained Slughorn's memory. Hopelessness washed over him. He had been presumptuous to accept his friends' offers to accompany him on this long, difficult, now seemingly pointless journey. He knew nothing more than he had already shared. Now he braced his heart for the words he knew would come next, that Hermione too had suffered enough and was leaving.

"No," she said. "I've told you time and time again. I'm staying, Harry."

"It's alright, Hermione," he said. "You've been brilliant—you don't need to worry about me anymore—and I can't ask anymore of you."

"You're incredibly thick; I've had ages to walk away if I had wanted too. I'm staying, Harry."

"What happens if we fail?"

"We might," she conceded. "But you won't be alone."

**() () ()**

When Harry woke the next morning he found himself looking to the bunk Ron had slept in, hoping the night before had only been a terrible dream. But as his eyes fell upon the vacant bed, the truth sunk in.

_He's gone_, he told himself. _He's gone and he's not coming back_. He knew that once they vacated their river-side camp that the protective enchantments would make it nearly impossible for Ron to find them again. They ate breakfast in silence. Hermione looked as miserable as Harry felt; her eyes were puffy and red and looked as though she hadn't slept. They packed everything away not long after, magically collapsing the tent back into Hermione's beaded hand bag and erased any evidence of their recent disturbance of the forest floor where the tent had rested.

They waited for more than an hour, exposed without any protective enchantments, hoping beyond hope that Ron might emerge from the trees. The muddy river beside them churned and sprayed over exposed and jagged boulders. A chill breeze would catch the excess spray and occasionally hit their faces.

"We can't wait any longer, Harry," she said finally. She took Harry's hand and immediately he felt the strong naval pull over his abdomen. They reappeared moments later at the top of a windswept hillside overlooking a dead field. The frosted-ground crunched beneath their feet. Harry erected the tent as Hermione once more enacted the numerous protective enchantments. He felt incredibly exposed on the hillside despite all the protections.

Each night, he and Hermione would once again rehash the possible locations of Horcruxes with little new ideas. They would discuss the sword and where Dumbledore may have hidden it, but Harry would bring the conversation to an end when he remembered what Dumbledore had told him: _The sword belongs to no one and will present itself as it always has; to a worthy Gryffindor in a time of great need._

They had taken extra care this time with the locket Horcrux; not only was it stowed inside the Mokeskin pouch at the bottom of Hermione's handbag, Hermione had added several charms over pouch, including a notice-me-not charm, which helped combat the sometimes overwhelming desire to wear the locket. When Harry had found himself looking for it one afternoon, he remembered the odd sensation of his thoughts forcibly pushed into another direction and he would leave the handbag undisturbed for the next several hours, occupied by some menial task that seemed far more important than it was. Hermione was the least affected, Harry noticed, but she too found herself eyeing the handbag with a hungry expression. Despite the pull they felt from the locket, their mood had improved dramatically.

Occasionally, a surprise visit from Phineas Black would disrupt their roulette with the Horcrux. He would drop non-descriptive hints about the current happenings at Hogwarts, though he was a poor informant. They gathered that Neville, Luna, and Ginny appeared determined to resurrect Dumbledore's Army and put up a low-level resistance against the regime change that had fallen over the castle. Professor Black however, would say nothing of Snape, unless it was to praise him and the fact that a Slytherin was again head of the school. Anytime they would ask prodding questions about the headmaster, Phineas would leave his portrait without word and would not return for several days. Hermione was equally ruthless; whenever Phineas would inquire about their whereabouts, she would pull the portrait from the wooden column in the middle of the tent and stuff it into her handbag. Eventually, both parties came to a silent understanding and neither asked the question that burned most prudently on their mind.

As the weather grew colder, they elected to move further north where they now had contended with snowfall, sleet, and sometimes freezing rain. As December arrived, Christmas trees could be seen in several homes, their twinkling lights visible from sitting room windows. They no longer moved from place to place every night. With winter now upon them, they both felt the harsher weather would give them some leniency with the snatchers they had seen far more commonly in the south of England. One night, under the disguise of Polyjuice Potion, they chanced an actual meal at the town's local diner, finding a quiet table for two in a dark corner.

With full stomachs and feeling a bit of the season's cheer despite everything, they retreated to the tent with high spirits. Hermione curled up in one of the chairs and pulled out the children's book Dumbledore had left her, determined to find something hidden within its pages. Harry though had something else on his mind and hoped Hermione would be receptive.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been thinking. I—I want to go to Godric's Hollow." He braced himself, ready for the same argument as before: _You-Know-Who would surely expect you to go there_, or _he knows how much that place means to you_.

"I think you're right," said Hermione, her eyes still darting back and forth over the book. "I don't think we'll find a Horcrux there, but—" and she reached over to her handbag and shuffled around until she withdrew a book Harry knew very well, though he hadn't looked at it since his first year of Hogwarts: _A History of Magic_.

"—seeing as Godric's Hollow is where Godric Gryffindor was born, it only makes since we'll find it there."

"Really," asked Harry, leaving his chair to look over Hermione's shoulder.

"Here," she said, quickly parting the pages in large sections until she found the place. She handed him the book. Harry took it and sat down, reading the short entry.

_When the International Statute of Secrecy went into effect in the later-half of 1689, the magical community elected to go into hiding for good. For the rest of the 17__th__ century, wizards and witches banded together to form small communities within already established Muggle settlements. The villages of Tinworthin Cornwald, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Otter St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were among the most popular settlements for Wizarding families to call home. However, Godric's Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born is perhaps the most famous of all half-magical dwelling places in Britain. The graveyard contains the names of Britain's most ancient magical families as well as the notable Wizarding smith, Bowman Wright, the wizard who forged the very first Golden Snitch. _

Harry looked up and found Hermione watching him.

"You think the sword could be in Godric's Hollow," he asked her. Hermione nodded.

"I don't think it's a far stretch to believe that Dumbledore expected you to make the connection," she said. "And that's not all. Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric's Hollow. And Bathilda knew Dumbledore's family, Harry. And yours too." Harry remembered the letter.

"That's right, I forgot—the letter." He had left his chair and started pacing in a circle around the sitting room. "Mum wrote that she came and visited sometimes over tea—told her stories about Dumbledore—but part of the letter was missing."

"Harry, I think Bathilda might have the sword," she said.

"You might be right," said Harry. "But what if it isn't? Dumbledore said it would present itself in a time of need."

"That's true," she said. "But that doesn't mean Dumbledore didn't give her the sword for safe-keeping. And we've had need of it for some time now, haven't we?" Harry conceded.

"So it's settled then? We go to Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes, but we shouldn't go without a plan," said Hermione. "I still think it's a risk to go there—You-Know-Who might have placed lookouts or any other number of detection spells or traps. But hopefully we're right and we won't run into trouble. We'll need to practice Disapparating together, and you could use a little work on you Disillusionment Charm. We should probably go under Polyjuice Potion as well."

"I can't go like that, Hermione," he said, finding his voice. "I know it's a risk…but I can't go like that…it's—"

"—home." She looked up at him with misty eyes.

"Yeah," was all he could say back.


	27. Home

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Home**

Harry and Hermione spent the better part of a week preparing for their visit to Godric's Hollow. Hermione spent the morning coaching Harry with his Disillusionment Charm until he was nearly unnoticeable, which made Hermione quite pleased. Harry was quick to point out however, that he had not yet achieved Dumbledore's skill with the charm. After lunch, they would review the book Remus had given Harry for his birthday. They would choose one of several Jinxes and Hexes each day to familiarize themselves with, surprised to find how many non-lethal, yet highly debilitating spells were at hand. They also tried to consciously involve emotion into their spell casting, finding it much harder than they expected. Lastly, Harry and Hermione would spend a little time trying to work out her Patronus Charm. After a few nights, Hermione could once again summon a strong gathering of silver vapor, but is shape remained ominous and unidentifiable. They agreed, however, that whatever shape her Patronus would inevitably take, it would not be the otter that had emerged during fifth year.

Meal time had also improved over the week as they decided to risk a second outing into town—disguised once more by way of Polyjuice Potion—and purchased several dry-packaged and canned goods from the market. No longer grimacing though foraged mushrooms, poorly prepared fish, or wilted berries, they fed happily on oatmeal and canned fruit for breakfast, enjoyed simple peanut-butter sandwiches for lunch, and ravished frozen entrée dishes for diner. They had likewise filled the modest kitchen pantry with several ready-to-eat survival rations, just in case.

Harry had been ready to set out for Godric's Hollow for days, but Hermione was convinced that Voldemort would expect him to return to the scene of his parent' deaths. Harry agreed that Hermione was likely right, but it did little to quell the longing that gripped at his insides. Still, with well over a week spent perfecting their Disillusionment Charms and almost flawless partnered Disapparation, Hermione agreed they were as prepared as they would ever be.

They waited until nightfall before setting out. Harry took Hermione's hand and felt suffocating darkness of Apparition, only to open his eyes moments later beneath the freshly fallen darkness above them and the twinkling of the night's first stars emerge. Hermione released his hand only to latch onto his shoulder as they stood in the center of a narrow street, their boots planted firmly in freshly-fallen snow. Cottages lined both sides of the street, Christmas decorations hung from flower boxes and shining colored-lights illuminating the windows from the inside.

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered, her warm breath grazing Harry's exposed neck. "And all the snow—Harry, it's absolutely beautiful." Harry agreed. They inched forward toward the center of the village where red and gold banners hung from the streetlamps, the icy air occasionally nipping their noses when a light breeze would flicker by. Harry observed each cottage they passed. Any one of them could belong to Bathilda, or perhaps, had been his parents. He examined the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, their icicle-laden gutters, and wind-swept frosty porches, desperate for anything magical to reveal itself.

They followed the narrow road as it curved to the left, leading them closer to the heart of the village. The street intersected with a small square where, strung all around with large, colored bulbous-shaped lights appeared to be the resting place of a war memorial, largely obscured by a towering Christmas tree. From here, they could see a post office, a small handful of shops, a pub where a several people had gathered outside, all with tobacco pipes in hand, and finally, a tiny church with exquisite stained glass windows brightly lit, where the sound of a carol rang clearly in the quiet of night.

"Harry, I think it's Christmas Eve," said Hermione excitedly.

"Already?"

"It must be," she affirmed. "Yes, listen closely—you'll hear it." And sure enough, floating from the open doors of the church Harry heard the choir of voices. Harry didn't recognize the words, however.

"It's latin," she said almost immediately. But Harry's eyes had fallen on the graveyard hidden at the back of the church.

"Come on," she said, tightening her grip around his forearm and bicep. "I don't think we should keep them waiting any more, do you?" Harry gave her a puzzled look. Hermione gave him a sad smile before nodding to the churchyard. "They've waited long enough. And so have you."

Harry had thought of this moment for more years than he could recall. He had thought what he would say if he ever stood at the feet of his parent's graves. He was never good with words and suddenly an unexplainable fear gripped him. Perhaps Hermione knew what he was feeling, because she took his hand in hers and pulled him forward, leading the way across the square.

"Harry, look," she said, pointing at the war memorial. What had appeared a simple stone and granite obelisk, embossed with golden letters of names had transformed into the statue of three people: a man with round glasses and untidy hair, a woman with long hair and a intense, yet pretty face, and baby boy nestled safely in her arms. Snow lay undisturbed upon their heads.

Harry stared at the statue, looking up into the stone faces of his father and mother. Any words he might have said were lost as he gazed at the baby without a scar on his forehead. Hermione stood silently with him. They stood that way for several minutes before Harry became uncomfortable. Hermione was brilliant—she had sensed Harry was struggling with his feelings and so she pulled him away from the memorial and watched the statue revert back into the war memorial.

They reached a kissing gate at the entrance of the graveyard that Hermione quietly pushed open to allow their entry. A small narrow pathway had been shoveled out of the snow leading to the far end of the graveyard, but much of the snow had been left undisturbed between tombstones. All the while, Hermione continued to lead Harry, her hand never leaving his. He allowed himself to be mindlessly guided, his thoughts too stretched to think on his own. Row upon row of snow-covered tombstones protruded from the white blanket of winter. They passed several names, some of them familiar, most of them unknown. They did pause however, when they stumbled upon two names upon the same tombstone very familiar to them:

**Kendra Dumbledore**

1851-1899

**Ariana Dumbledore**

1885-1899

_Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also_

Harry remembered Elphias' tribute in the Daily Prophet. This then was where Professor Dumbledore's family had been laid to rest. As he looked over the tombstone, he felt further ashamed that he had never bothered to know more about Dumbledore. He thought of the common ground between them; both families tied to such a deeply magical rooted place. Yet, Dumbledore had never thought to share the connection. And though he imagined the sort of bond and understanding that might have formed had they visited together, he could not blame the headmaster for his lack of confiding in him. After all, the loss must have been devastating. Still, he couldn't help but feel emptiness for what could have been.

"Why didn't he ever say anything, Hermione," he asked her.

"I don't know, Harry," she said. "But I'm sure he had his reasons."

"Let's keep looking," he said. They walked down several more rows, looking for the Potter name. They continued to find surnames they recognized, surprised at times to find what appeared to be whole generations of the same Wizarding family. As they moved into the heart of the graveyard, Hermione pointed at an old weather-worn stone; it was decidedly taller than all the rest.

"I don't think my parent's grave is that old, Hermione," said Harry weakly.

"No, but look at this," she said, pointing at an engraved symbol in the stone. A triangular mark had been cut into the stone, and crudely by the looks of it.

"Harry, it's the symbol," she said. She quickly summoned the book of children's tales from her beaded hand bag and found the story of the three brothers. She held up the page where Dumbledore had drawn the symbol and compared it to the one on the grave. Worn as the old gravestone might be the similarities of the shapes were unmistakable. Hermione lit her hand and pointed to the name on the headstone. It was near illegible.

**Ignotus Peverell**

There were no dates below the name.

"Harry, this can't be a coincidence," she said.

"Hermione, we've seen this mark before," he said suddenly. "Luna's dad—at the wedding!"

"Oh Merlin, you're right," she said. She continued to examine the gravestone for a bit longer, but seeing nothing further, she said, "it's a start, but this isn't why we're here." Harry readily agreed. They returned to the shoveled path and walked down a few more rows when Hermione gave a small gasp and pointed to a tall white marble stone.

"They're right here, Harry…"

Harry nodded as he let Hermione guide him toward the final resting place of his parents. His feet lumbered forward like heavy weights and the path forward felt miles away. A suffocating vice pressed down on his chest as an all-to-familiar emotion surrounded him like thick fog; grief. When they reached the foot of the graves, the marble tombstone, pristinely white, reflected brightly beneath the moonlight and easily illuminating the engraved letters:

**James Potter**

March 27 1960-October 31 1981

**Lily Potter**

January 30 1960-October 31 1981

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_

Harry read the words slowly, knowing he would never get to read them again after tonight. He suspected Dumbledore had chosen the words, though they caused him unease.

"Isn't that a Death Eater idea," asked Harry, finding words. He did his best to ignore the burning sensation welling in his eyes.

"It's from the Bible," said Hermione, gripping his hand tightly as she spoke softly and gently beside him. "It doesn't mean what you're thinking. It means living beyond death. Living after death."

But they were not living, thought Harry. And tears tumbled down his cheeks in a sheet of water, boiling hot to the frozen skin of his face. Comforting the words might have been to Dumbledore at the time, they were empty to Harry as he stood on the ground where beneath his feet, his parent's remains lay buried and forgotten, unknowing of the world above. He did not try to hide them from Hermione—he knew she wouldn't care. He watched through watery eyes as his tears dripped from his chin and landed on the snowy ground, imagining the place where his parents lay, wishing for the first time that he too was sleeping hidden beneath the snow beside them. Then he was angry; why had no one brought him here? Why had Dumbledore thought it unnecessary? Why hadn't Sirius or Remus mentioned his parent's final resting place, or offered to take him? His anger gave way to more grief; if there was such a thing as life after death, were they watching him? Did they know their son stood so near, alive with his heart beating because of their sacrifice? Did they know the trails of his life? Did they know what awaited him and could only watch helplessly from some untold place on high?

Hermione had remained silent, watching his tears fall and was soon crying with him. She held him closely, her left hand intertwined with his while with her right hand she had latched into the crevice between his arm and torso. She leaned her head on his shoulder. She didn't need words; Harry knew his untold grief was shared between them.

"I wish I could talk to them," he said after a while, his eyes tired and red.

"You can," she whispered next to his ear. "They're right here. Everything you've ever wanted to tell them, you can tell them right now."

"They can't hear me," he said desperately.

"They can," she encouraged. "They're always watching you; I believe that with all my heart."

"How do you know," he asked half-heartedly.

"Just trust me," she said. "Go on, say something. If you want to be alone, I can wait over by the gate."

"No," he found himself answering. "No, I—I want you to stay." Hermione squeezed his hand again and Harry returned the pressure. It was an odd feeling to be standing over the remains of his parents, trying desperately to find words to say to them. Each time he tried to speak, his mouth would hang open as he took sharp gulps of the cold winter air.

"Take your time," said Hermione, her right hand now running up and down the length of his arm.

"Hi, Mum, Dad," he said, the words tumbling from his lips. Harry looked down at his feet as though they had become the most fascinating objects in the graveyard. He swallowed hard, noting how narrow the passageway of his lungs had become. "This is Hermione Granger," he found himself saying with vague awareness, and yet the words felt natural. "She's my best friend. She says you've been watching me all this time. I don't know if that's true or not, but if you have, then you already know how amazing she is." He heard Hermione take in a sharp intake of air and felt her grab him tighter. "I wouldn't have made it this far without her…she made sure you didn't die for nothing..."

"Harry…"

"I know you would have adored her, Mum," he continued. "Sirius and Remus told me how brilliant you were; Hermione's just like you—she's the best in our year and Muggleborn too—and I don't know what I'd have done without her. She's good at everything: Transfiguration, Potions, Charms—she loves to read and remembers almost everything from her books—she's truly brilliant, Mum."

"Harry…you shouldn't—this isn't for me…they'd want to hear about you—"

"—and Dad, you'd love her too," he went on as though he hadn't heard Hermione's protest. His words flowed easily now because Harry had found what he wanted them to know. "She's incredibly brave and loyal. She's always been there—always the last one standing with me. And if you really are watching, you already know that. I wish you were still here so you could get to know her, talk with her, and laugh with her." He thought briefly of talking about Ron, but knew almost immediately he didn't want too. Even though his brain told him it was impossible for his parents to hear any of his words, his heart vibrated to the hope and truth of Hermione's words that his parents were watching. So, he settled the matter quickly and accepted that his parents knew his troubles just as much as his victories.

"I miss you terribly," he said, finally. "I wish I could remember flying on a broom in the living room, chasing ornaments with Dad. I wish I could remember Sirius visiting. I wish I could remember a lot of things, Mum, instead of the things I have to imagine. Hermione and I won't give up—we're going to beat Tom and he'll pay for all the terrible things he's done. Someday I'll see you again, and when I do, I'll tell you everything you want to know. And I'll tell Dad the things you don't want to know. Don't worry about me—Hermione worries plenty. She really is good at what she does and she's even better at watching out for me." As he finished he found a sense of peace. He was glad Hermione had come; even if his parents couldn't hear his words, he had said the words that lived in his heart. He had always kept his deepest desire inside, unspoken to anyone. Saying them aloud had made them real and now, as he stood at the feet of his parents' grave, his heart ached with the loss he had refused to acknowledge; the emptiness from knowing he had never consciously known the embrace of his parents, their soothing words, their discipline, or their love. Finally, as he looked down at the base of the white marble tombstone and then to the countless others, he realized he hadn't brought anything to leave behind.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything to leave you," he said at last, sheepishly and ashamed. However, Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a slow circle through the air and a beautiful wreath of Christmas roses blossomed in midair before them. She released her grip from Harry and took the wreath and laid it gently at the base of the tombstone. She examined it for almost a minute in complete silence before she flicked her wand a second time and singular white lily emerged from within the bundle of roses. Harry felt his eyes burn once more.

"I—I wish I could have known you too," she said. She spoke quietly, but in the silence of the graveyard, her voice sounded like a church choir; full of emotion. "Harry's always been too modest, so I'll tell you a little bit. When I first came to Hogwarts, I thought I'd never have a friend. Now I have the best friend anyone could ever ask for. He's stubborn. He gets into trouble often, though it's not always his fault. He's loyal, and brave, and he never takes the easy way out. He must have gotten that from you two."

Harry kneeled down beside her and placed an arm around her.

"He falls asleep in History of Magic. His handwriting isn't very good, but he's smarter than he'd have you believe. You'll be glad to know he's a brilliant Quidditch player. He's the youngest Seeker to play on a house team in over a century. And don't believe everything he's told you; he scored better than me on his Defense OWL. He hasn't had an easy time growing up, thanks to your sister. I'm sure you'd have the same words for her that I fully intend to enlighten her too the next time we meet."

"I promise that I won't abandon him. I'll protect him with everything I have. The world is constantly asking more of him, more than he should have to give. I'll admit I'm sometimes just as selfish; sometimes I want too much of him as well. But you already know that, don't you? I promise he won't be alone."

Harry pulled her closer, and she put her arms around his waist and sat kneeling in the snow, together, beneath the star-spattered sky, the silence of the night keeping their company.


	28. An Old Family Friend

**Author's Notes:** Hello, everyone! Got a bit of a longer chapter for you, as well as a few twists, I hope, to yet another very familiar scene. Really appreciate everyone's kind words regarding the last chapter. As always, I appreciate your comments and criticisms (so long as they are actually constructive rather than simply confrontational).

Anyway, without further ado, the next installment.

Cheers

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: An Old Family Friend**

Harry and Hermione walked past the church unnoticed and hand-in-hand as the pub across the street drew in all the village's inhabitants looking to continue their festive celebrations. They turned down an unlit quiet street that promptly led them from the village center and into a long cul-de-sac lined with unassuming cottage houses.

"Thank you," said Harry as they stepped around the corner.

"For what?"

"Everything; the flowers…what you said…being here with me…"

"You don't have to thank me for that."

"Yes I do," argued Harry, his eyes glued to the snowy road stretched out before him. He could just make out the abrupt end of the street that led to a small gathering of leafless, snow-covered aspen. "I always thought I'd've come here with Dumbledore, or maybe Sirius, if he had been cleared…I'm glad it was you in the end."

"I wouldn't be a very good friend if I didn't do those things, Harry."

"You're the best, Hermione," said Harry. "I meant every word; Mum and Dad would have loved you. I don't know how I know it, but I do."

"I wanted to be here with you," she said as she latched onto his arm again. "I meant every word too, you know; sometimes I'm just as selfish as the rest of the world."

"Of all the things you are, Hermione, selfish is not one of them."

"You're as simplistically sweet as ever," she responded, squeezing his arm tightly for a second. "But I promise you I'm just as selfish as the rest of the world; at least when it comes to you."

"I don't think following your fated best friend to almost-certain death can be thought of as _selfish_, Hermione," he said with an amused smile.

"But I am," she argued, looking down at the snowy sidewalk beneath her boots. "I've thought about Godric's Hollow long before we knew about Horcruxes or the Order—I knew you'd want to come here someday—and I've always wanted to be with you when you came. I was sure it would be Dumbledore, or Sirius, or Remus, or maybe even the Weasleys and I'd be left behind. I wanted to be here with you, Harry. I didn't want you coming here without me. You have no idea how selfish I am."

"You're not," said Harry. "Besides, you've nothing to worry about anymore; look around—you're the only one here, just like always."

"There are loads of people who would want to be here with you if you let them," she insisted.

"Maybe," said Harry. "But they wouldn't be you. I don't trust anyone like I trust you, Hermione. If being here with me makes you selfish, then I'm just as selfish for wanting you here too. For what it's worth, I think it was supposed to be this way." She looked up and turned her head to face him, her chocolate eyes noticeably moist, but she smiled away any tears that might have been.

"When this is all over, I'm taking you far away from this place," she said. "It is selfish of me, and I don't care." Harry smiled.

"If we make it out alive, Hermione, I'll go anywhere you want me too."

They continued past several more cottages, each identical and no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

"I still don't know how we're going to find Bathilda's house," said Hermione as though she'd just read his mind.

"Dunno," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders in half defeat. "She's a witch, so wouldn't her place have several protective enchantments and what-not? If we're right about Dumbledore leaving the sword with her, wouldn't that mean she and Dumbledore were friendly? Wouldn't that mean she'd at least have some level of protection if she was keeping something as important as the sword safe?"

"It's very possible," she said with a heavy sigh. But then Harry saw it. Rising up in front of the moon-drenched aspens at the end of the street, a dark mass emerged and hid the trees from view.

"Hermione…"

"Is it…"

But as they drew nearer, Hermione silently answered her own question as she gripped harder around Harry's arm. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years, long left unattended since James and Lily had left the world. Rubble and debris lay scattered, exposed by the clumps of waist-high grass that protruded from the snow-covered yard. The cottage loomed over them with a mix of dark ivy and snow, the crater of the top floor forever attesting to the calamity that had once visited in the night. Harry observed the missing walls and collapsed roof; the place where the curse had backfired. Harry felt his chest numb against the beating of his heart while he imagined the cottage home whole, well-kept, green and bright on a summer's day, he and his father outside on brooms, his Mum watching from the porch. He shook his head as they he and Hermione approached the gate. He felt another squeeze on his arm and heard Hermione sniffle.

Harry reached out to the unhinged, heavily rusted gate.

"You're not going in, are you," she asked in a chilled whisper. "The house could collapse." But Harry shook his head, wanting only to hold, to touch, to feel something—anything—of home. As soon as his hand latched onto the gate, a sign emerged from the snow as if it had long been buried. Fluid, golden letters emerged against the white-painted wood.

_On the night of October 31__st__, 1981_

_Lily and James Potter lost their lives here._

_Their son, Harry, survived the brutality visited upon this home_

_and remains the only known wizard to have survived the Killing Curse._

_This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state_

_as a monument to the Potters and a reminder to us all_

_that peace is never cheaply purchased. _

Harry pushed the gate through the snow and crossed the threshold. He kneeled beside the sign and found that people had scribbled or magically carved their names across every blank space. Hermione kneeled beside him. Some had simply added their initials, many their names, while others had offered words of encouragement. Many of them were old, but some were fresh, glistening brightly beneath the starlight. He read some of them, feeling the swell in his heart brush aside the cold chill that had seeped into his skin upon seeing the home that Voldemort had denied him: _We're standing with you, Harry,_ read one. He found another: _Don't give up, Harry_, it read. He felt his throat constrict as Hermione gripped him painfully around the forearm as they read a third entry: _I believe in you, Harry._ It was signed: _Dean Thomas_.

Harry found his eyes wandering to the porch. Four white wooden pillars remained erect, though one leaned heavily inward toward the crater of the second floor. Paint peeling and weather worn, they too were covered in carvings and graffiti. Together they approached the house, looking over each column. Many of the names were unknown to them, but some stood out.

"Harry, look," said Hermione, pointing halfway down the first pillar. "Diggle signed this one…and look over here," she went on, her finger resting near the bottom, "Barnabus Tofty…Griselda Marchbanks…you remember them, Harry? They were our O.W.L. examiners…" Harry nodded. He didn't trust his voice. So many people had visited. They moved to the next one.

"Oh, Harry, look here," she said, pointing to a pair of names: _Frank and Alice Longbottom_. Once more, Harry could feel the burning sensation in his eyes. Harry had long considered Neville a good and trusted friend, but never before had he felt so close to the young man. How much time had passed between their visit and the day they were tortured into insanity, he wondered. For a brief moment, he shared in Neville's longing for his parents' recovery. They read more names: Tiberius Ogden, Elphias Doge, Xenophilius and Pandora Lovegood, and Amelia Bones. However, it was the names carved in the final pillar of the porch where Harry nearly lost all his composure: _Molly and Arthur Weasley_. Hermione embraced him tightly as she looked out onto the street over his shoulder. It was then that Harry heard her sharp intake of breath. He turned on his heels, pulling her in a half circle as he drew his wand in the direction of the street.

The womanly figure stood on the other side of the old rusted gate, covered in an earthly traveling cloak, her back hunched over as she held tightly to the old rusted gate for balance. White hair escaped at the bottom of her hood and Harry could just make out the wrinkles around her cheekbones. When she spoke, it was an old, raspy voice.

"I wondered when you would come home, Harry."

Harry however, did not lower his wand. Hermione had recovered from her shock and had drawn hers as well.

"Who are you," demanded Harry. The woman lowered her hood, revealing a very elderly face, heavily gouged by wrinkles with several cataracts around her still sharp blue eyes. She hobbled along the fence a few paces, her steps slow and deliberate. Her gaze never left them.

"You're Bathilda Bagshot," said Hermione. The stranger nodded. Her eyes briefly surveyed the ruined house, her expression sad and longing.

"You won't find what you're looking for in there," she said, looking intently at Harry again. "Not anymore."

"Do you know what I'm looking for," he asked, doubtfully. He slowly pulled Hermione with him as he stepped backward up the porch steps.

"Perhaps," she said cryptically. "Come, we'll talk inside."

She led them back up the street toward the brightly lit square, but turned suddenly to the right once they had passed a few houses. She led them through a gate and into a tiny yard with an icy-path. The cottage looked as old and weather-worn as the woman who resided there. Once inside, they found the sitting room dimly lit by a nearly extinguished fire in the grate. The walls were lined with bookshelves, all crammed full of dusty books and tightly rolled scrolls. The sitting room table was buried beneath loose sheets of scribbled-on parchment, half-consumed ink bottles, and quills with dried ink on their tips. There was a single sofa tucked up beside a curtain-drawn window accompanied by stiff, thinly upholstered arm chairs on either side. Bathilda flicked her wand toward the grate and the fire crackled into life, bathing them in flickering light and warmth. She flicked her wand a few more times and several candles were lit.

"Make yourselves comfortable, and I'll put on some tea," she said. She disappeared for several minutes. Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione looked about the room.

"Harry, look at this," she said, pointing to the small end table between the couch and one of the armchairs. It was a book, Harry could see, and certainly newer than any of the others scattered around or piled onto the many bookshelves. Hermione reached over and scooped it up, holding it to the light. The portrait of Albus Dumbledore looked out of his frame at them, smiling broadly, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Golden letters sparkled beneath him: _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_. Tucked inside between the cover and the first page was a crinkled note written in a familiar acid-green ink:_ Dear Batty, thanks for the help. Here's a copy of the book. I hope you like it. Just so you know, you said everything, even if you don't remember doing so. Rita_. Harry felt a sour sensation at the pit of his stomach. Hermione turned past the opening pages when Bathilda reentered the sitting room, a small silver tray shaking slightly in his hands. She set down the tray and filled the three cups to the brim with steaming liquid.

"I'd read that with caution if I were you, dear," she said, eyeing the book in Hermione's hand before she wobbly dropped into the nearest armchair.

"So it's all lies, then," said Hermione, her face flush with sudden ease. Harry felt a small sense of pleasure; nothing written by that horrible hag could be trusted.

"Yes, and no," said Bathilda as she brought the cup to her lips. "But we can address that later." She took a sip of her tea and closed her eyes, her face visibly warmed by the steaming liquid running down her throat as the blue tinge of her lips faded away. She looked at Harry again. It was rare that anyone would look at him without their eyes drifting to the scar on his head, but Bathilda was one of those individuals who had yet to look there.

"You probably don't remember me," said Bathilda, "but I was a friend of your parents. I used to come by for tea pretty regularly once they'd gone into hiding."

"I don't really remember anything from then," said Harry truthfully. "But I found a letter Mum wrote to Sirius a while ago…she said you came by…telling her stories about Dumbledore…" Harry could not resist bringing up Dumbledore. So much was unknown and here was probably the only person alive who could tell him the things no one else could.

"So sad," she said. "I remember reading in the papers. I hadn't really known Sirius, but I believed him to be a good man. Lily adored him. I didn't want to believe he'd done those things…but history's pages are often filled by those we least expect. Now, at least the world knows the truth. I hope his soul has found rest."

"So you knew Dumbledore well then," said Harry, not wanted to talk about Sirius, especially to a complete stranger.

"I can see you won't be dissuaded," she said with the first smile. "May I ask who your friend is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione, introducing herself. "I love your books—they are all incredibly fascinating."

"She's read them several times over," said Harry.

"And they've been right useful," she said, punching Harry lightly in the arm.

"Well thank you," said Bathilda. "Like father, like son, Harry, you seem to have gravitated toward a lover of knowledge."

"She's brilliant," admitted Harry, "but she's a lot more than that."

"Of course she is," said Bathilda. "Given the current climate of our affairs, few would willingly walk shoulder-to-shoulder with you, dear boy. You'll be Muggleborn, of course," said Bathilda knowingly. Hermione nodded, her head slightly downcast, but Bathilda shook her head.

"Not an insult, dear," she said quickly. "I've been around for a very long time, longer than you can imagine; I've seen terrible things done in the name of blood purity and superiority. I've witnessed the prejudiced brutality countless times over the years, watched its baton handed down generation after generation, each calamity more perverse and sickening than the one that preceded it. I've yet to see a Muggleborn perpetrate such atrocities in our world. No, the best of us are often Muggleborn. Never be afraid of where you come from."

Hermione, not knowing what to say, simply smiled as she took hold of Harry's hand. Bathilda again turned her eyes upon Harry.

"The last time I saw you, Harry, you were hardly a year old. You look just like James. Except your eyes, of course—"

"—like my mothers," he said. "I know."

"Forgive me," she said sadly. "You must tire of it. I can't imagine how many times you've already heard it." She stood then, reached over to the window and pulled away the curtain a sliver and looked out into the snowy street.

"I was here when he came that night," she said, talking to the window. "It was cold, even for an autumn night. It had rained all through the day and the wind was incredibly fierce. Handfuls of children were running up and down the streets, getting their candy, dressed in costumes, pretending in a world they didn't believe existed. I watched this street every day, and every night. I never saw him walk past. If only I had…" Harry felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as she recounted that fateful night.

"No one knew what had happened until there a massive explosion from the house," she said finally as she stared out the window. "I leapt out of bed and looked out through my bedroom window. The nursery room was…destroyed. You saw the remnants, tonight. And there you were, Harry, on the floor of the nursery, your crib in pieces and scattered about you, walls gone…Lily and James…gone." Harry looked down at his feet. Hermione rested a hand at the top of his shoulder, her thumb stroking the skin on the back of his neck. Bathilda closed the curtain and sat again, her tiny eyes looking past them as if she observed something in the distance.

"I Floo-called Albus immediately," she continued after a heavy swallow. "There was no answer. I pulled on my robes and set off down the street. None of the Muggles were aware anything had happened, yet. The anti-Muggle charms and other remaining protections kept them ignorant through the night. I entered the house. I found James first, in the hallway, without his wand. I went upstairs. Lily was sprawled on the floor. She hadn't had her wand either. And there you were, dear boy; I found you curled next to Lily, tapping her shoulder for attention…"

Harry fought the burning in his eyes. He squeezed Hermione's hand for strength. She responded. She took his hand in both of hers and held tightly.

"I grabbed a blanket—it had been torn some, but it did the trick," she said, wiping away a solitary tear that had slid into one of the grooves of her cheek. "I wrapped you in it and held you—did my best to comfort you. But I was not Lily…"

Harry's mind worked tirelessly, recreating everything as Bathilda spoke.

"Albus arrived a few hours later. He tended to your parents…made quick arrangements. He summoned Hagrid, who arrived a few hours later by the Knight Bus. Albus evaluated the few remaining protective enchantments. They were beginning to fade. Dumbledore gave instructions to Hagrid. He was to bring you someplace at a specific time. I offered to bring you into my home…for warmth…and shelter…he said no, that you could not leave the house, damaged as it was. He said something about ancient magic and left to make preparations."

Harry looked at Hermione, wondering if she was thinking the same as him.

"He went to my aunt and uncles," said Harry with a faint understanding, "to set up the wards."

"He must have done, yes," said Bathilda, absentmindedly. "I was to leave you in Hagrid's care. I fought Albus adamantly, but it did me no good. Hagrid took you in his arms and he stood in that room all day. I misjudged him; no one was taking you from that room. They would have met a gruesome death. I went back periodically, brought you a warm bottle, changed you…night fell...and then the last of the protections fell. I did what I could to distract the villagers…I heard from a distance Sirius arrive on his flying motorcycle. I could hear an argument, though I couldn't make out the words—I was too far away. When the argument ended I saw Hagrid set off on the motorcycle, leaving Sirius on the porch of the house, kneeling with his head down. Ministry officials arrived, modified memories, and concealed the house. I returned home. You know the rest."

Harry let his tears fall as Hermione held him tightly. At last all the scattered fragments of that terrible night had pieced themselves together: the voices he heard in the presence of Dementors, Hagrid's rescue, Dumbledore's wards, and finally Bathilda's first-hand recollection. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him everything? Bathilda appeared to have picked up on Harry's feelings.

"Everything in that book, everything that is attributed to me, is all true," she said, eyeing the book in Hermione's lap, though every word appeared to cause her a small bout of pain. "However, as often is the case with history, facts on their own do not always tell the whole story. And Rita, well, she is gifted in the art of misdirection."

"Tell me," said Harry, surprised by his own desperation.

"You can have it," she said, indicating to the book in Hermione's lap. "Just remember what I said when you read it." She another sip of her tea, swallowed hard, and started her tale.

"You and Albus both share a painful history in this village," said Bathilda. "Albus' mother moved the family here after her husband attacked several Muggle boys and was sent off to Azkaban."

"What?" Harry couldn't believe it.

"Yes," said Bathilda. "That's where Albus' misery began, I think." Over the next hour, Bathilda revealed the secrets of Dumbledore's family: how Kendra's husband's fate loomed over the family's head, the secret illness of Dumbledore's sister, Ariana, and the unexpected death of both.

"She's buried here too," said Hermione. "We saw them, in the churchyard."

"Yes, poor Ariana," said Bathilda. "When Kendra died, Albus became the head of the family. I won't tell you it was easy for him; oh he grieved—he loved his family, but Albus was unlike any wizard our world had ever seen. No one had ever achieved such a level of academic success: Prefect, Head Boy, and Youth Representative to the Wizengamot…already noted for his alchemical prowess and contributions in theoretic Transfiguration. He was seventeen then, seeking what most boys his age seek: glory. Few are capable of finding glory in what appears to be the mundane task of caring for family, and Ariana…she needed constant care…"

"The family appeared to manage, for a while," she went on. "I hadn't paid as much attention to the boys as I perhaps ought to have, as my own great-nephew had come to stay for the summer. Little did I know my nephew and Albus would become fast friends. Such a pity it did not last…I think…sometimes, if Albus had…but it doesn't matter…not anymore."

"Who was your nephew," asked Hermione. Bathilda looked sadly at Hermione, but pointed to the book. "There's a picture of him—in there—about a third of the way—I think the chapter is called, 'The Greater Good.'"

Hermione thumbed through the pages, photographs and words blurring as she sped page by page.

"There it is," said Bathilda, pointing at the photograph.

A young Dumbledore stood with a wide smile, teeth glistening and blue eyes twinkling mirthfully, arm in arm with another familiar face…the thief who had been in Gregorovitch's wand shop. Harry looked at the caption:

**Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother's death with close friend, Gellert Grindelwald**

"Grindelwald," asked Hermione surprised.

"It's not a misprint," said Bathilda, sadly. "Go on, you may as well read it."

So Hermione read it aloud. Harry listened while Hermione recounted the tale painted in dark words they could not imagine Dumbledore taking part in. They were scandalized at Rita's own admissions of having used truth serum on the old historian, but were more shocked at the friendship that had briefly blossomed between Dumbledore and the man who was once feared as the darkest wizard of all time. Of course, Voldemort held that title now. But most shocking, most disturbing of it all to Harry, was the letter between the two young men and a phrase that formed into an angry cloud that enveloped his thoughts; _The Greater Good_. The subjugation of Muggles. He wanted to vomit.

He had already forgotten the death of Dumbledore's mother and sister, the estranged relationship between him and his younger brother, Aberforth, and the very known fact that Dumbledore had fought and defeated Grindelwald later in life, for all of it had seemed inconsequential, nearly irrelevant to the blatant selfishness that smiled up from the page at him. His mind screamed at him. How could Dumbledore have entertained such thoughts? Always, always, Harry had believed in Dumbledore—believed in his goodness, his wisdom, his blinding moral fortitude… A new emptiness emerged in his chest, a great gaping hole exposed to the world; the grandfatherly image burned to ashes.

And was Rita right for once? Had Ariana been the victim of their selfish ambition? Had Dumbledore, even briefly, stumbled down the path of the Dark Arts? He felt his lungs collapse as his chest constricted. He was breathing quick, sharp gasps of air.

"It's alright, Harry," said Hermione. "You know Dumbledore…you know who he was…"

"No, Hermione, it's not," he said. "Look what he was doing. Hermione…he wanted to rule over them. People like…people like your parents…"

"He was young, Harry, young and foolish."

"So are we," said Harry, surprised by anguished tearing in his voice. "And we're running though the country side fighting the Dark Arts, ready to give up everything, including our lives for it, and here he was, orchestrating an end to one of the very things we're trying to protect."

"I'm not defending what he wrote, Harry, as you well know," said Hermione, her voice attaining a sharp edge previously absent. Harry stilled a moment. "But the Dumbledore we knew, Harry, the Dumbledore that stood between you and You-Know-Who at the Ministry, the Dumbledore that fought for Muggle protection acts and Muggleborn rights, the one who gave his life for you, Harry, that Dumbledore was a good man." Hermione wiped her tears upon her sleeves. "Harry, I think the reason you're angry, is because he didn't tell you all this himself."

And she was right, he thought. His mind flashed back to the Pensieve encounter. Dumbledore couldn't even do him the courtesy of telling him the truth of the Horcrux that existed inside him while living, instead delegating the unfortunate task to a memory of his likeness.

"Maybe I am," he said quietly. "Look at everything he's asked from me."

"And that, Harry, is why Albus could never bring you here," she said softly. Harry fell silent, waiting for her to explain.

"You remind him of the choices he wished he made all those years ago. I was not close to the Dumbledores after Ariana died. Gellert left, as you read, the next day. I daresay none of us will ever know the truth of that terrible moment. Albus may have ultimately given Gellert the philosophical plinth to stand upon and defend the atrocities he committed, and just as it would be wrong to deny that truth, it would be equally wrong to deny that Albus spent the remainder of his long life tirelessly fighting those injustices."

"And what does it matter what Albus once was," she asked him. "Would the man you know commit the same atrocities that my great-nephew once did? Would the man you know seek to destroy and tear apart families and friends in the selfish quest for power and out of a false sense of superiority? History is not made up of a single moment in time, Harry; it is made up of several moments, some of them exceedingly long. Similarly, a man's life cannot be properly weighed until it is complete."

"I know little of Albus' affairs aside from what he himself made public later in life," Admitted Bathilda. "Albus often said it was our choices, far more than our abilities that determine who we truly are. Well, it can also be said that it is our actions, far more than our words that demonstrate who we truly are. Do Albus' actions reflect the words in that ill-fated letter? Were they the actions of a selfish, power-seeking man, or were they the actions of the man you already believed in? I cannot answer that for you. You must answer it for yourself."


	29. Update

Hello, everyone.

Sorry for the long pause in updates, but I have a good excuse; baby boy has arrived, and it's been an educational couple of weeks.

I will return to updating in a couple of weeks. Look for sometimes near the end of the month.

Thanks for waiting patiently.


	30. More than Flesh and Blood

Thank you everyone, for patiently waiting. Without further ado, let the story continue.

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: More than Flesh and Blood**

Harry slept miserably through the night, waking repeatedly, each time shaking his head vigorously in the desperate hope to free his mind of the enslaving images of his dreams. However, in the still darkness of Bathilda's guest bedroom, the vestiges of his nightmares flashed before his eyes, illuminating every dark thought held in his heart. Harry was no stranger to the night terrors; he had adjusted to them as his life was tossed from one peril to the next. He had dreamed his death many times since his visit to the graveyard in Little Hangleton. They would still wake him, but they no longer lingered into the night.

But tonight his dreams had shifted ferociously. Twice he had been startled awake with his stomach in knots by a youthful and merciless Dumbledore standing head and shoulders over shackled Muggles and Muggleborn. The third time this happened, his mind cruelly morphed the headmaster into the likeness of Tom Riddle. It was, however, after the fourth dream that he had given up on sleep entirely. Quietly he tossed the blanket aside, climbed out of the cot Bathilda had conjured and tiptoed across the room to sit at the window facing the ruin of Potter cottage.

He looked once over his shoulder toward the bed where Hermione slept. He watched her for a while, momentarily entranced by the slow rise and fall of her breathing. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath.

She was safe.

Again Harry shook his head and resumed his window gaze, desperate to be lost in the eternity of the falling snow flakes.

And for a moment he was.

His thoughts drifted until they found another world kept safely in another time. The cottage was whole and vibrant, cool and inviting beneath the shade of the aspen. James and Lily Potter joined him and Hermione on the porch, observing the quiet cul-de-sac as they talked about another school year come and gone.

Harry felt a smile rise on his lips.

They had graduated.

His mind drifted further.

He and Hermione stood at the center of friends and family in the back yard with congratulatory banners strewn in the trees. The Grangers, the Weasleys, Luna and Neville, Professor McGonagall, Sirius, Lupin and Tonks, Dumbledore, and others were present. Ron came forward speak. Harry didn't know what he was saying, but whatever it was had Hermione in happy tears as she lunged forward and hugged him. Ron then clapped Harry hard on the back, teeth bared in a broad grin. And all became clear as Hermione leaned over and captured his lips with hers. Everyone smiled and clapped joyously around them.

Harry felt the heavy lunge of his heart as he saw it; the ring on her finger.

Hermione was radiant. The curled locks of her hair turned gold beneath the summer sun and her chocolate eyes capturing his green gaze. Again his heart leapt.

They were engaged.

His eyes grew heavy as an incomprehensible peace filled his chest.

He was sitting at a long, ornate table, looking from face to face. These were not the friends and family that had been gathered around him. But he knew these people. It mattered little though as he waited for the sallow-faced one beside him to speak.

"You summoned me, Milord," asked Severus.

"I did indeed," he said. "I trust you are not inconvenienced by my summons?"

"My master never inconveniences me."

"Lord Voldemort is pleased to hear it." His eyes lingered over his servant. Severus had been instrumental in the success of his most precious plans. The double agent had delivered him his most delectable prize; the death of Albus Dumbledore. But now was not the time to revel in such sweet emotion.

The crackling of fire stretched over the silence. Severus waited for him to speak. He allowed himself to smile. If only the rest of his followers were half the skilled wizard as Severus.

"Severus, indulge my curiosity for a moment if you will."

"Of course, Milord."

"I wonder, Severus, did the old fool ever take Potter to Godric's Hollow?"

"Not to my knowledge, Milord," said Severus confidently. "You may remember that Potter and Dumbledore started to have fallout when the Ministry turned against them. As you know, Dumbledore distanced himself from Potter in the hopes to dissuade you from your attempt to possess him. That relationship began to rebuild last year, but I do not think it had adequate time to repair the damage done. Dumbledore had confided in me that he believed himself unworthy to accompany the boy on such a personal journey. Ironically, it would have been the very action to mend the relationship."

"I see…" He held Severus' gaze, forcing his way into his servants mind. Images flashed in quick succession. After several minutes of collaborating Severus' information, he was satisfied.

"Good, very good," he said. "Another query, if you would be so kind, Severus?"

"Milord knows my knowledge is his."

"Do you think Potter would seek out the resting place of his dead mother and father?"

"Potter wears his emotions on his sleeve," said Severus with evident disgust. "I know not if he ever expressed a desire to visit Godric's Hollow, but I would not discredit his desire to do so."

"I thought as much," he said. Satisfied, he turned his attention toward another at the far end of the table.

"Pius, you have acquired the information I requested of you?"

"I have indeed, your grace."

"Come, then," he said, waving his spidery hand in a simple gesture. Pius rose from his seat quickly, knocking his knees on the table bracing, but it did not deter him. Pius walked as straight and narrow as he could, approached the head of the table and presented him with a sealed document.

"Open it," he commanded. Pius broke the seal and withdrew a slim sheet of parchment and handed it to him.

His eyes darted over the document:

**Department of Magical Law Enforcement**

**Public Records Division**

**Magical Residence Registry**

**Godric's Hollow**

_Bathilda Bagshot_

_15 Aspen Court_

_Godric's Hollow_

He eyed Pius.

"And this is the only known magical occupant of Godric's Hollow?"

"It is, your grace," said Pius with a catch in his throat. "There are several vacant plots of land owned by several wizards or witches, but only this one currently resides in Godric's Hollow."

"You may return to the ministry, Pius," he said lazily. "You have done what Lord Voldemort required."

"It is my pleasure to serve," he said, bowing clumsily.

"Milord," asked Severus.

"Speak, Severus."

"What consequence is the old historian?"

"Not much," he said with a shrug. "Quite the contrary, she and Rita Skeeter have been quite useful to Lord Voldemort in further besmirching the name and reputation of that Muggle-loving fool. Regardless, she was an old friend of the fool's family. It is likely she was residing in the village when I last visited. I know Potter. If he knows or learns that Bathilda resides in Godric's Hollow, his chances of visiting are increased two-fold. One, the connection he'll seek with his family, and two, to learn the truth of his beloved headmaster. As you indicated, though the relationship between Potter and the fool were damaged, it was on the mend. Given how the old fool's death came about, Potter will feel a great need to understand. Who better to monitor the village than dear Bathilda, I wonder?"

"You intend to place her under the Imperious Curse, Milord?"

"No, I think not," he said with hungry smile. "I have something far more…befitting of the occasion. It is not enough to discern Potter's arrival; he must also be detained. For this, I shall need the help of Nagini."

_"Come, Nagini,_" he hissed, "_I have great need of you."_ He waited for his faithful pet to slither from underneath the great table to coil around his chair. He reached out a hand and stroked Nagini's head.

"Does Milord require anything further?" asked Snape.

"No, you have given valuable information to Lord Voldemort; you may return to your usual duties." Snape rose from his chair and bowed before him. Then, with his robes billowing behind him, Snape left the dining room.

_It appears, Potter, that you and I shall return to Godric's Hollow, though fortune will favor me this time around. _He stood then, stretched out a hand to Nagini and Disapparated. Then he felt pain; great splitting pain in his forehead.

"Harry, Harry, are you alright?"

Harry opened his eyes. Hermione crouched over him, her hair obstructing most of his view from the ceiling while a strand brushed his cheek. He was lying on the wood floor, several feet from the window. Aside from the pulsing sting in his forehead, the back of his head throbbed.

"I think so," he answered

"You took a nasty fall," said Bathilda, hobbling through the doorway. "Heard it from the other room."

"What did you see, Harry," asked Hermione. The question brought Harry to his senses.

"We have to leave, now," he said, pulling himself up. As he rose to his full height his body swayed and the room spun violently. Hermione quickly latched onto his for support.

"What do you mean, leave now?"

"He's coming," said Harry. "Tom's coming."

"You let him in?"

"No, he was talking to Snape and Pius," said Harry quickly. "He wanted to know if Dumbledore had ever brought me to Godric's Hollow. Snape told him no and then Pius brought him a ministry document that contained known magical residences of Godric's Hollow. Bathilda was the only one on the list." He looked over to the aged historian. She held his gaze for only a moment, her eyes briefly unfocused. Then, Bathilda's eyes darkened and her face hardened.

"You two need to leave now, out the back, this way." She left the doorway as she gestured for them to follow her. Hermione quickly summoned all their things and stowed them into her charmed bag and followed Bathilda down to the main landing. Bathilda lead them through the kitchen, the pantry room, and finally, to the door leading out to the covered porch and the back yard.

"Hurry now," said Bathilda, flicking her head toward the back door.

"Aren't you coming with us," asked Harry. Bathilda smiled.

"This is my home, Harry; I'll not see it unattended too."

"I can't accept that," said Harry. He looked to Hermione; her eyes were locked on his. She understood.

"Harry, you cannot save everyone," said Bathilda sadly.

"He's coming here because of me."

"And he'll meet the most unhappy woman he's had the misfortune to stumble upon," she said with a heavily wrinkled smile. "I am old, Harry, far older than I care to admit. I am tired. And you of all people should understand." Harry gave her a confused look. Bathilda smiled again and gestured with frail, wide-open arms at her house.

"This is my home, Harry," she said again. "To you, it's a house in which I live—replaceable, indifferent to those surrounding it—but to me, it is a library of every fond memory I hold dear. Every book I've written, every person I've interviewed, every dusty text I've combed is a story that only has meaning within these walls. This fight is more than that of flesh and blood, Harry; it is _everything_ that we hold dear."

"He'll kill you if you don't give him what he wants," said Harry, pleading.

"Indeed he shall have too."

"I can't live with that."

"You must, dear boy," she said. "Have courage to persevere; the end will come. Chosen or not, you cannot save all. I suspect you'll find difficulty in accepting this, but my will is mine own, Harry, and though you seek to save this life of mine, I choose to give it. You cannot take from me my right to do so; for if you did, you would be no different than the forces you stand against. Good-bye, Harry." And before Harry could react, Bathilda had flicked her wand.

"Stupefy."

Hermione caught him as he fell unconscious, giving a curious look to Bathilda.

"We both know it was the only way," said Bathilda. "Do look after him, won't you?"

Hermione nodded, fighting to hold back tears.

"Do not cry for this old pile of bones," said Bathilda. "I know what I must do. With me the trail will grow cold as winter. Keep him safe. The world cannot lose him."

"I know," whispered Hermione.

"And neither can you."

Hermione attempted to speak but was interrupted by an ear splitting chime from the cuckoo-clock hung on the kitchen wall.

"He's here," said Bathilda. "Go, now."

Hermione gave one last look of gratitude to the historian before dragging Harry out to the porch and Disapparated to the first place that came to mind.

Hermione landed with Harry in tow moments later, her feet landing on the frozen, leaf-and-snow covered ground. Snow littered the very tops of the trees and the air was bitter cold, but they would at least be sheltered from the wind. She laid Harry softly on the ground, making sure his head was elevated on her rolled-up robes in a make-shift pillow. She quickly retrieved the tent from the bag and assembled it magically before setting all the protective enchantments. Then she roused Harry, who woke in a startle.

"She stunned me," were the first words from Harry's lips. Hermione helped him to his feet, led him into the tent, and helped him to a chair.

"I know," said Hermione quietly. She immediately busied herself with making tea, her mind running wild with imagined horrors they had abandoned Bathilda too. Just as Hermione set the kettle upon the burner Harry let out a terrible scream. She turned on her heals to find Harry holding his forehead with both hands, eyes shut tight, and teeth bared.

"Harry, Harry," shouted Hermione, taking hold of his shoulders and shaking him. He didn't respond and soon slumped in the chair, his arms dropping like dead weights to the side.

He had tried to show manners. He had knocked on the door. His patience easily exhausted these days, he blew the door from its hinges easily enough. He stepped over the threshold. Like a museum wax replica, the old historian stood in the living area, her wand pointed calmly at him.

"Bathilda," he said in what he thought was a polite voice, "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Your notable academic contribution is well known. Lord Voldemort values such pursuit. Do not be foolish. Put down your wand and hear what Lord Voldemort has to offer you."

"You can offer me nothing I don't already have," she said curtly. "And nothing you offer is anything I wish to partake in."

"Willing or not, you will serve Lord Voldemort," he said tiredly. He had little patience for misplaced vibrato. "Best if you choose willingly, I assure you."

"You'll have to kill me, Tom Riddle." He felt his insides burn. He gave his wand a quick swish and the old relic was thrown into the wall, her eyes wide. She slumped to the floor, gasping for air. Still, her hand gripped her wand tightly.

"A taste of my displeasure, Bathilda; should you fail to address me properly, I promise you the next time will be very unpleasant."

"I suppose…it is…the habit…of…an old historian…like me…to call things what they are…and not how they are perceived."

"I tire of this conversation, Bathilda," he said venomously. "Lord Voldemort has an important task for you."

"And what task would that be?"

"Harry Potter will come to Godric's Hollow, I am sure of it. And when he does, he will come to you. You have answers he seeks. You will watch for him and detain him for me."

"And what makes you think Harry Potter wants to chat over tea with this old relic?"

"You knew the Dumbledore's, did you not?"

"There are others as well."

"Ah, but none like you, Bathilda. Only you have the answers he seeks; the truth. And when he does, Bathilda, you will be his captor."

"I'll do no such thing."

"You don't have a choice." He smiled as he gave in to the bloodlust coursing in his veins.

"Crucio." Bathilda crumbled to the floor, writhing, shouting, her eyes wide and bulging, and her back arching in spite of the limitations age had placed upon her body. After a minute had passed he lazily lifted the curse, his lips curling in satisfaction. Bathilda had gone limp. Perhaps a bit of assistance was in order. He levitated her body into an upright position, her feet dangling just inches above the floor.

"You're too late, Tom," she finally breathed, her voice nearly inaudible.

"What?"

"Harry Potter won't be coming to Godric's Hollow."

"You don't know Potter like I do."

"You may wish to re-evaluate what you know, then."

"Speak then, what I don't know."

"He was already here. He won't be coming back."

_No!_

Anger pulsed in his chest. Hot bubbling liquid erupted in his stomach. He flung his wand in a violent swish, sending Bathilda once more into the wall. She slid down the wall, barely able to hold her face up to look upon her aggressor.

"Where did he go? Tell me!"

"I don't know."

"Lies," he bemoaned. He flicked his wand and Bathilda was raised to full height. He locked eyes with her. "I shall know soon enough."

"You can try."

She hadn't lied. Potter had come. Bathilda had watched them in the churchyard, followed them from afar as Potter and his female companion found the ruin of his home, and finally, invited them into her home, divulging the answers he, Lord Voldemort, believed Potter was compelled to know. And somehow, Potter had flitted into his mind without him knowing any the wiser. The old historian had elected to stay behind. She had stunned Potter to ensure he left.

Rage engulfed him.

_How had the talentless wizard navigated his mental shields?_

He was staring at the old woman, her eyes longing for death's release. He would oblige her.

"You have served your purpose, Bathilda. Know that you have only delayed the inevitable. I will kill Potter. His death will be the final victory toward a world guided by the purity of magical blood. You have won nothing tonight."

"You are wrong…"

He laughed and raised his wand.

"You underestimate him, Tom. That boy has something you'll never understand."

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry woke in his warm bunk bed, though his sheets and blankets were dank with sweat. A damp cloth was folded over his brow. A sliver of golden light peeked through the tent flaps. Hermione stood at the kitchenette, tending to a tea kettle, but upon hearing Harry stir, she came to his bedside with a fresh cloth.

"You're awake," she said, replacing the cloth.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Nearly twelve hours. It's ten to noon."

"She's gone, Hermione," he said, heavily.

"I know," she said, stroking his cheek briefly. "I think you said aloud most of what you saw from You-Know-Who's mind. I tried to wake you several times, tried for nearly an hour, before you fell quiet. I stopped trying once I discerned you had fallen asleep in earnest."

"Why did she do it, Hermione? She didn't have to die."

"I know. But I think I understand why."

Harry waited.

"She was right; this is a battle of more than flesh and blood, Harry. You-Know-Who takes _everything_ that is good in this world. When he takes the life of a mother, a father, a friend, a loved one, he isn't looking to just take a life: he tries to prove that we'll do anything—betray our loved ones, commit terrible atrocities, or give in to the darkness that consumes his very soul—in exchange for our lives. Bathilda remained because she had too, Harry. You-Know-Who took her life, but she was the victor. She died uncorrupted, uncompromised, and free."

"And she'd still be those things if she'd left with us."

"Maybe," said Hermione sadly. But then she smiled and as her chocolate eyes caught the light, her face radiated with pride. "But Bathilda was an old soul. She's witnessed so much prejudiced brutality in her lifetime and I rather think that last night was her way to speak in a way she never could in all her books."

"And no one knows but us," said Harry gloomily.

"Today, yes," acknowledge Hermione, "but not forever."


	31. Worthy

**Chapter Thirty: Worthy**

Harry took the first night watch, grateful for the company of brisk air, silent trees, and the clear night sky above. He held the steaming mug of Earl Grey tea Hermione had prepared for him in both hands. And though his hands welcomed the warmth, the amber liquid could not wash away his troubled thoughts. Hermione had been diligent; she had spent the afternoon doing what she could to comfort him with Bathilda's loss. But Harry had refused to accept the old witch's seemingly pointless sacrifice. To him, Bathilda's stubborn moment of heroics had only served a momentary irritation to Voldemort, an irritation that had resulted in her death. Harry had experienced firsthand the price of _playing hero_, and it only made the knots in his stomach constrict further.

It wasn't that he misunderstood Bathilda or was befuddled by her choice. Quite the contrary, he understood her actions better than most. He hated it because he had hardly known her. He hated it because he knew she had done the right thing. He hated it because she became a target due to his connection with Godric's Hollow. He hated it because of _love_: _love _that had blindly led him home to the feet of his parents' graves. It simply wasn't fair.

And yet, Bathilda's death did not weigh the heaviest on his mind. Each near death or catastrophic event drew him closer to Hermione. She had become his tether, his only life-line, his only light at the end of the tunnel. He struggled to hold the truth in. He knew he was one calamity away from divulging everything and it would all go to ruin.

Never again, he resolved as he stared into the night sky. Never again would hunches and instincts drive his choices. The stakes were just too high to act upon the empty hope and feeble attempts at Dumbledore's seemingly secret plan.

His downtrodden thoughts drifted on without him as he stared blankly into the deepening darkness of the forest. Snowflakes floated lazily around him as they descended upon the forest floor, coating the ground with a thin white blanket. Beneath the starlight, it shimmered brightly, his eyes occasionally losing focus if he gazed at it overly long.

_It would be so easy to surrender_.

The stray thought startled him. He shook his head and took another sip of tea and looked out into the night once more.

_No one would die for you anymore._

He squeezed his eyes tight and swallowed brittle air. His hands constricted around the mug.

_Give in; it is the only way to save them. It is the only way to avoid the pain. _

"Shut up," he whispered to the darkness.

_You know it to be true…why prolong the suffering…_

The cup slipped from his fingers and rolled onto the ground, emptying itself of the remaining liquid. His chest pounded and blood rushed to his brain. He clenched his fists and stood from his blanketed spot outside the tent entrance, wholly disregarding the jar of blue flames at his feet as he stormed inside the tent. Hermione stirred in her bed for a brief moment. Harry watched her until he could hear her steady and calm breathing resume. He latched onto her extendable hand bag, opened it, and thrust his arm elbow deep into its contents. The Notice-Me-Not Charm pulsed from the Mokeskin pouch but it did not deter him this time. He could hear the fait heartbeat from within. The soul within the locket would not be denied.

He withdrew the pouch, reached inside and wrapped his fingers around the chain of the locket and brought it into the light of the tent. He stood for a moment, his emerald gaze disappearing into the darker green of the locket. He slid the chain over his head. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the coolness of the metal touched his exposed skin. Quietly—as he knew he must be—he tiptoed out the tent and returned to the welcoming embrace of the cold, dark forest.

He sat once more on the blanket, his legs crossed and his hands wrapped around the locket. His eyes stared absently into the jar of blue flame at his feet.

And then he saw it.

A bright silver light had materialized from within the depth of the forest and moved closer and closer still toward him, gracefully meandering between the trees. Slowly, the orb of wisp-light took shape, forming legs, then a short tail, and finally a slender head and ears.

It was a Doe. A beautiful, graceful, silver-white doe, bright as glistening midnight stars. The doe halted at the edge of the trees that formed the small grove they had taken refuge within, staring at Harry without any further movement. And Harry realized what it was: a Patronus.

He rose from the blanket, his eyes held steadily upon the doe, his hands clutched tightly around the locket. He wanted to approach the creature. Every instinct in his body urged him toward the creature. It was strangely familiar, though he knew not from where.

_Do not follow_.

His heart beat in unison with the faint pulse contained inside the locket.

_It will harm you_.

But Harry continued to stare at the doe. He was certain such a creature as this could do no harm. The doe stepped forward in response to his clouded mind, her head held high as her wide, piercing eyes captured his own. Then, without any warning at all, the doe turned quickly on its hind legs and darted back into the trees. And Harry set off close behind, ignoring the frantic caution of his mind and the soul fragment carried around his neck.

The doe traversed the snowy wood without a trace, leaving no sound or footprint. Harry, however, was not so fortunate. The mix of snow and frozen leaves crunched beneath his feet and his heavy breathing carried from one tree to the next. Still, Harry gave chase to the doe as she led him deeper and deeper into the forest, all the while sure the wondrous creature had all the answers he sought.

And yet the locket pushed unrelentingly against his chest. It wanted nothing to do with the magnificent creature. Why, Harry wasn't sure, nor did he give it much thought. Perhaps it was fear? For how could anyone hate such a peaceful spirit as the doe?

And at last, she came to a halt. She had led him into another clearing, this one a field of undisturbed snow, pristine and glowing beneath the moon. The doe gave him another look, then twerked her head toward the field, motioning him to follow. Harry looked over the vacant field as the doe dashed across it. Harry followed her with his eyes, spotting a frozen pond. Harry drew his wand but instinct told him he did not need it. Slowly, then, he approached the doe, drawing closer and closer to the pond. When he was only a few yards away, he gathered his courage to speak.

"Who sent you," he asked. The doe did not speak. Instead she motioned digging into the ice covering the pond. Harry inched closer. Again the doe dug at the ice, but the Patronus was incapable of breaking it. Again Harry inched closer. The doe locked her gaze with his. Harry opened his mouth, his question ready. Then, before he could speak, the doe's form reverted back into the wispy orb.

"No, don't go," Harry whispered, surprised by his own sudden desperation. But the pulsating orb did not vanish. Instead it floated out to the center of the pond, illuminating the surface with intense, vibrant light. Then the orb plunged into the ice, lighting the dark water beneath. He stood now at the edge of the pond, one foot on the frozen water, the other on land. He squinted at the submerged Patronus. And then he saw it; a flash of silver and deep red and a glistening blade.

The Sword of Gryffindor.

Harry rubbed his eyes vigorously behind his glasses and looked again.

The sword lay unprotected at the bottom of the pond. He swallowed hard as the Patronus reemerged from the pond, leaving the water dark once more. The orb floated toward him, eye level, and hovered for a moment. Then it vanished into nothing.

"Lumos," said Harry, holding his wand high. He swallowed, well aware of what he had to do. Only the brave and the daring of heart could take the Sword of Gryffindor. Who had placed it at the bottom of a frozen pool, he didn't know. He starred once more at the uninviting prospect of the frozen pool, reminded momentarily of the second task during the Tri-Wizard tournament. He swallowed again before shedding his several layers of clothing. Bare-skinned in all but his boxers, he stepped out onto the frozen pool, his feet burning the moment his flesh touched the ice. Over the next several seconds, Harry took three timid steps toward the center of the pond, wincing with each creak of the ice beneath his feet. He pointed his wand at the center of the pond.

"Diffindo."

The ice cracked like a whip and echoed through the field. The ice split into several fractures, leaving an opening twice his size at the center. He swallowed again. The pond was no more than fifteen or twenty meters deep, but the prospect of fully submerging himself in the freezing water was very unattractive. But he needed the sword.

He took the plunge.

Every part of his body felt pierced by tiny needles. His blood had surly frozen. His lungs shriveled to the size of a Flubberworm as he pushed toward the bottom, wand arm extended to light his way. He reached forward with his free hand and grasped the hilt. His feet hit bottom. He bent his legs and pushed off.

But the sword did not budge.

Harry planted his feet once more and pushed off harder than before.

Again, the sword would not budge. Harry released his grip on the sword and surfaced for air. His lungs burned as he gulped in the winter air.

_Why wouldn't the sword budge?_ But the bitter cold of the water and the air above did not give him long to ponder. He filled his shrinking lungs with air once more and plunged once more.

He grabbed the hilt with both hands this time, wand parallel to the handle and wrenched with all his strength. Again it would not budge. Then something closed tight around his neck and pulled him away from the sword.

**() () ()**

Hermione jumped from her bed, wand pointed toward the entry. The noise of what sounded like a gunshot had woken her.

"Harry," she called, slipping on her socks and shoes haphazardly.

"Harry," she called again when he didn't answer. She walked into the small sitting area and found her handbag lying haphazardly on the floor. Her eyes scanned the floor as she bent over to retrieve the handbag. The Mokeskin pouch lay near the tent entrance.

"Oh no," she whispered, clutching at her chest. She picked up the pouch as she pushed aside the flap entrance. Harry had vacated his sitting blanket, leaving the jar of blue flames to burn unattended. His tea mug had rolled onto the snow, empty. She spotted footprints off to the right leading into the forest. She looked inside the pouch; the Horcrux was gone.

"Harry," she shouted into the trees. No answer came. Her heart pounded quickly and her stomach constricted. She eyed the forest. She could follow the footsteps, but was it the fastest way to Harry? Then she held her wand in the palm of her hand.

"Point Me," she said, forcing all her attention, thought, and emotion into the spell, hoping it would work the way she intended. Her wand spun twice in her hand before pointing into the woods straight ahead of her, far to the left of Harry's footprints. Hermione's familiarity with the Forest of Dean also told her the wand pointed south east, which could only mean one thing; her spell had worked.

She took off into the wood, wand alight, dodging between the trees as she determinedly kept the line her wand had directed her to. The reflection of the snow would occasionally blind her but she continued undeterred and her pace unhampered, fueled by a singular thought.

_Please be alright._

It wasn't long before she emerged into the clearing. She could see the frozen pool of water, the broken ice, and the pile of clothing at the edge of the pond. Hermione ran the length of the small field. Each step accelerated the beating of her heart. Her breath caught for only a moment as she reached the water's edge. It was dark and she couldn't see anything.

"Lumos Maxima," she shouted, pointing above her head. The frozen pool lit as though beneath a blazing summer sun. And she saw it, ruby encrusted hilt and unblemished blade; the Sword of Gryffindor glistened at the bottom of the pond. But where was Harry?

And then her heart stopped. Harry struggled in the water, his hands grasping at his throat. The Horcrux locket constricted around his neck as it attempted to drag him to the far end of the pond. Without any hesitation, Hermione leapt into the water, fully clothed. The water was torturous, its brutal cold penetrating to her core. She wrapped her arms around his torso and kicked off toward the opening in the ice. They emerged seconds afterward, but harry still grasped for air as the locket continue to strangle him. Hermione held him above the water with one arm and pointed her wand with the other.

"Wingardium…Leviosa," she incanted between a deep gulp of breath. She guided Harry to the shore, away from the ice. She then hoisted herself back onto the ice and crawled to Harry, her body shivering uncontrollably. But her discomfort was not on her mind; the Horcrux locket continued to constrict upon Harry's throat, Harry's fingers the only thing between the chain and complete suffocation. She grabbed the Horcrux by the encasement and pulled it over Harry's head and threw it to the ground.

Harry slumped, his immediate struggle now over. His breathing was quick and sharp as he took in the cold air. His fingers and toes were tinged in a light blue. Hermione waved her wand over his body in a simple, elongated motion, drying him instantly. She repeated the spell on herself.

"The…sword…" moaned Harry. "In the pond…"

"I saw it," she answered back, her heart filling with temporary relief. How much longer he could have held on…she didn't wish to ponder. She summoned his clothes, placed a warming charm on them, and helped him dress.

"How did you find me," he asked as Hermione helped him with his shirt.

"It's not important right now," said Hermione. Her voice was low and almost guttural. Harry noted her tone carried an edge.

"Why did you take the Horcrux from the bag, Harry," she asked.

Silence.

"Harry, answer me."

"I don't know," he said finally. He looked away and starred into the snow. "It…called me…I don't know how to explain it…I couldn't resist the urge…It was like my mind wasn't my own anymore…"

"But why now?"

"I'm not sure, Hermione," he said. "I was keeping watch, thinking about Bathilda…why she didn't have to die..." Harry's voice dropped. He didn't want to share how dark his thoughts had been during his night watch.

"And how did you know the sword was here?"

"A Patronus led me to it," he said. "A doe."

"You followed a Patronus?"

Harry nodded.

"Did you see who cast the spell?"

Harry shook his head. He looked back at the pond. He made to stand up but Hermione pushed him back into a sitting position.

"We need that sword, Hermione," he protested.

"I'll get it," she said. "You stay here. Keep watch."

"Hermione," he tried to argue, but she had turned her back to him, wand stretched out over the black ice.

"No, Harry, I said I'll do it," she said, her voice radiating with raw sharpness. She turned to look at Harry, her chocolate eyes sparkling beneath the moonlight, hot tears streaking down her cheeks. "You scared me, Harry. I thought for one horrible moment I was too late."

Harry couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I didn't know what would happen."

"I know," she said as another stream of tears fell down her cheek. "But it doesn't change what almost happened. I know you feel responsible for Bathilda. I know you feel responsible for every single death in this damned war. But that doesn't make your life worth any less. So don't treat it like you can throw it away. I…I can't lose you, Harry." Harry fell silent as Hermione turned her back to him once more.

"Diffindo," she said, her wand steady in front of her. But Harry could still hear the rawness in her throat.

The ice cracked and fractured, sending echoes of thunder through the forest. The ice broke in a jagged line, parting in two from the shore to the hole Harry had made earlier. The water sloshed and spilled over the ice. Steeling herself, then, for another plunge, Hermione went to the water in a run, diving headlong as the water splashed around her knees. Once more the bitter cold of the water permeated her clothes and sunk into her skin.

She grabbed the sword in both hands, planted her feet solidly on the rocky ground and pushed off. The sword lifted effortlessly with her. She emerged, sword in hand, taking great gulps of freezing air as she waded back to the shore, her clothes sagging and shedding puddles of water. She stood for a moment before Harry, her bushy brown curls flattened around her face, lips quivering and blue. Harry forgot the beauty of the doe that had led him to this field. He realized in that moment he had never seen anything, or anyone, as beautiful as the woman standing before him.

Hermione waved her wand over the length of her body, drying her clothes as before, stowed her wand into her holster and shoved the locket into her jeans pocket. She then held out her free hand to Harry, who took it, his mouth slightly agape. How had she so easily taken the sword when it had refused to budge for him? But he didn't ask Hermione. Instead, he followed her back through the woods at her silent gesture.

As they walked through the silent trees, Harry's thoughts were sporadic; flashes of every moment Hermione had come through for him when no one else had. He had always appreciated her intelligence. He had proudly proclaimed his pride in her spell mastery. But with every step closer to the tent, Harry felt something new, something different than before. The woman leading him through the forest had fully taken his burdens. Weight had fallen from his shoulders and onto hers. He wanted to feel guilty. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to loathe himself at his very core. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he felt relief. His steps were lighter.

Outside the tent, Hermione leaned the sword against the nearest tree and withdrew the locket Horcrux from her pocket. She held it for a moment, her eyes weary as the green encasement twirled on the chain. Then kneeled down and brushed away the shallow snow and frozen leaves, leaving behind a bare piece of exposed earth and laid the locket down with the ornate _S_ facing the night sky. She turned to Harry. Her tears had dried but the whites of her eyes were bloodshot and tired. Still, determination flashed as her gaze captured his.

"Let's destroy it," she said. She retrieved the sword and held it out to Harry. Harry looked at the sword and then back to Hermione.

"No, it's supposed to be you," he said.

"I've never destroyed a Horcrux, Harry; it should be you."

"No, you got the sword, it's supposed to be you," he said. He had learned the unspoken lesson Dumbledore had taught him; this was magic at its deepest, swiftest current. Hermione had retrieved the sword. The sword had yielded to her. Hermione was the worthy Gryffindor this time. Hermione though looked uncertain.

"Hermione, that sword wouldn't budge for me at the bottom of the pond," he said. "I tried. Maybe it was the influence of the Horcrux, maybe it sensed more than me, I don't know. But it yielded to you. You have to wield it."

"Should we open the locket?"

"Kreacher thought so. And I think I know how to open it." He got down on his knees and looked at the ornate, serpentine _S_. It looked enough like a snake. He looked up at Hermione. "Be ready. Don't hesitate either. Whatever's left of Tom's soul will put up a fight. The Riddle that came out of the diary tried to kill me."

"Alright, Harry, just tell me when." She gripped the sword in both hands and pursed her lips.

"On three, alright?"

Hermione nodded.

Harry narrowed his eyes, blurring everything in his vision around him but the serpentine _S_, imagining it a living, breathing serpent.

"One…two…three…_open_."

The locket swung open with a soft click. For a moment, everything was silent. Then, several things happened. A forceful wind escaped the locket, knocking Hermione and himself to the ground. Then a mass of black cloud spewed from its container; the wispy image of the youthful Tom Riddle emerged, handsome but terrifying, his eyes not yet the red slits the wizarding world now feared, but wholesome and empty. Then a terrible pain split across Harry's forehead. Terrible pain, as though his scar knew what was coming, knew that it must avoid the blade once wielded by Godric Gryffindor.

"Stab it now," shouted Harry, his hands clutching at his scar.

Riddle however, paid little attention to Harry. He turned his gaze upon Hermione, sword help limply in one hand with her back on the ground, staring up in horror at the black visage.

"_I have seen your heart, and it is mine_."

"Hermione, don't listen to it…stab it…stab it now." Another flash of pain washed across his face.

"_Hermione Granger…Mudblood…insufferable know-it-all—persecuted for your intelligence and despised for your dirty blood—caught between two worlds as you try to prove your worth…"_

"Hermione, please, stab it now…" Hermione looked to Harry, watched his claw at his forehead and chest, his body trembling.

"_But you do not fear these things…_"

Hermione stood again, sword dangling loosely still in her hands. She swallowed and stared into the eyes of Riddle's fragmented soul. She took the sword once more into both hands and stepped forward. Another blast of wind pushed her hard against the tree.

"_But you are afraid…afraid of failing him when he needs you…_"

Hermione shook her head, sword gripped tighter still.

"_And you fear losing him in the end…_"

She looked again at Harry, her heart plunging into a cold far more bitter than the icy pond at the thought. Harry continued to plead through the pain in his scar.

"Hermione, stab it now…don't…listen…to it."

"_Your love for him perpetually guarded…it has made you weak…for you fear most of all that he will never love you…_"

"HERMIONE, PLEASE!"

Hermione's heart paused with Harry's frantic cry. She swallowed again and propelled herself toward the locket, sword raised high. There was a flash of silver as the blade struck the exposed center of the locket. The shade of Riddle screamed in agony, but it was not the only one. Harry's cry had been far louder, far more gut wrenching.

The fragment swirled, the form of Riddle dissipating as Hermione stabbed the core with the tip of the blade.

"_You will never win_," said the detached voice of Tom's fading soul fragment. "_You've only brought the one you love closer to death_."

With a final pulse of energy, the remnant soul fragment of Tom Riddle vanished into nothingness. Harry went limp. Hermione dropped the sword and ran to him.

"Oh Merlyn, Harry, are you alright," she asked leaning over him. Harry could feel her rapid breathing on his neck. Chocolate brown eyes greeted his own.

"I've been better," said Harry softly, reaching up and rubbing his scar. His head throbbed painfully. Hermione helped him into a sitting position.

"We did it, Harry."

"You were brilliant, Hermione," he said, "brilliant and amazing." She hesitated a moment, her lips moving as though to speak, but no words came. The danger was past. Then, before Harry had even regained his bearings, Hermione had launched herself onto him, arms crushing his torso with incredible strength, her hair nearly suffocating him as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, her hot tears tumbling in sheets upon his skin. They remained that way for uncounted minutes. Then, suddenly, Hermione raised her head until her chocolate brown eyes locked with his. They glistened with tears. Tears Harry had seen before. Tears that had surfaced during Bill and Fleur's wedding. Happy tears. Joyous tears. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione hushed him with a finger upon his lips. She gave him a small smile, leaned forward and captured his lips with her own.

Harry was lost. His heart had stopped. For the briefest moment, his chest felt light and empty. Then his heart exploded, pounded against his chest with unrestrainable force and with such purpose that Harry fully expected the vessels to burst. His stomach twisted into knots as his mind turned blissfully blank. He felt as though he'd just lived a thousand eternities.

Too soon her soft lips departed. He opened his eyes. She smiled at him, hopeful.

"Now you know, Harry," she said. "Now you know my deepest secret."

Harry just stared at her, his heart screaming with celebration while his brain tried to reel him back to reality.

"Say something, Harry."

_No…he couldn't go down this road…_

Harry shook his head. His heart protested, throwing daggers into his spleen and stomach—any vital organ—to convince him otherwise.

"Harry, my heart has just been laid bare for you and all you can do is shake your head?"

"I can't, Hermione…"

"You don't feel the same way..."

He watched her eyes darken, crestfallen and embarrassed.

"No, that's not it," he said quickly, tripping over his words. "I…I can't…we can't."

"Harry, if this is about Ron, again, I think I've been more than clear just now…and the Horcrux was quite blunt about it."

"It's not that…it's…it's something else."

"What is it, then?" she asked, her voice cracking with the fragileness of her heart. Harry looked away, his eyes falling upon the destroyed locket only a few yards away.

"It's the locket, isn't it," she said, her eyes growing wide as she followed Harry's gaze. "Why was it hurting you?"

"I…"

"Harry, is it because of your connection with…You-Know…with Tom?"

"I…sort of…" He wanted to tell her. But how could he? How could he tell her now, after she had just told him—and show him—her feelings?

"Harry, tell me you feel the same way I do..."

"It doesn't matter what I feel," he said, the words tumbling from his lips, unable to stop them. "There's a reason I can feel it...when the Horcrux is damaged..."

And Hermione fell silent. She stared at Harry, her eyes wide, hands cupping her mouth to muffle her sharp intake.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No…no, I don't believe that…I…I can't believe that."

"It's true, Hermione," he said. "Dumbledore told me...in the pensieve." Hermione stood, fists curled tightly.

"The Horcrux...before it was completely destroyed...it knew…"

Harry looked at her confused.

"It said I brought the one I...brought you closer to death."

"I think I've always known, in some way that it would always come down to this," he said.

"And how do we get rid of it," she asked. Harry looked away.

"I supposed Dumbledore didn't say, did he?"

"He did," said Harry. "And I think you know it too."

"I'm not going to let you die, much less watch it happen."

"It's the only way, Hermione."

"So you expect me to help you destroy the rest of these Horcruxes-whatever and wherever they are-so you can just hand yourself over?"

"I'm not asking you to do any of that."

"Why didn't you tell me," she shouted. "I could have been researching-looking for a way to save you."

"I wanted to tell you," said Harry, "but everytime I tried, I couldn't."

"This is why you told me to leave with Ron, isn't it?"

"I just want you to be safe...and happy…"

"You were never going to tell us...tell me…you were just going to walk to your death after all the Horcruxes were destroyed…"

"I'm sorry," he said. "But it has to be this way, Hermione. As long as even one Horcrux remains...he can't be killed."

"And what about you?"

"My life isn't worth any more than anyone else's."

"It is to me," she said, eyes glistening again. "You're the most important person in my life, Harry...the most precious...my best friend...I...I c-can't l-let you d-do it, H-Harry." Harry moved toward her but Hermione held her arms up and walked into the tent, leaving Harry alone beneath the moonlight.

Hermione found her bed, but not before she had retrieved the vial of memory Dumbledore had left for her. She sat, legs crossed on the bed, staring at the dull-colored liquid. She pulled on the stopper with all the strength she possessed, but it wouldn't budge. Frustrated and struggling to see through the tears, she held the vial in one hand and pointed her wand at the stopper. She tried vanishing the stopper, but it remained. She then tried shrinking it. Again it remained. She tried several other magical means, all of which failed. Finally, she dropped her wand onto the bed as she held the vial tightly with both hands, tears falling faster than before.

"Please," she wept, "p-please open...I n-need answers. I n-need to save him. P-please help me save him. Please...I love him." No sooner had the words left her lips that the vial turned warm in her hands. She opened her hands; the vial emitted a pulsing blue glow.

**Author's Note:** I hope you all liked the twist on this very familiar scene. Now, before some of my readers get upset about why Harry couldn't lift the sword-I'm not saying Harry was "unworthy" to get the sword...but he's not in a good place right now. He's struggling with massive doubt, he's dealing with what he thinks is a betrayal on Dumbledore's part, and while I think there is a level of courage involved with keeping his fate a secret, it's not the most courageous thing. I also think with the Horcrux being in the vicinity would also skew the magic of the sword as it realized there was a very unworthy spirit.

Now, for those that may not agree with the Horcrux's destruction hurting Harry as well; I know there is now history to support this embellishment from the books, but I did get the inspiration from the movie adaptation when Harry tells Hermione, "There is a reason I can sense them." It adds a depth that I think is missing from Harry's struggle, as well as it being very symbolic in the way that "we must die to ourselves."

Finally...I know most of my readers have waited patiently for these two to finally share the big moment may be upset that I've brought them together only for Harry's resistance to get in the way. Please be patient. This story is still quite some time from finishing. And we all know Hermione better than that. She's not just going to let Harry "have his way."

Anyway, hope you all liked the chapter. It was a challenge, but quite fun. The pace is going to really pick up now, as I hope to go full steam ahead and wrap this story up so I can concentrate on my other endeavor.

P.S. What did we think about the modification to the "Point Me" spell?


	32. Resentment

**Chapter Thirty-One: Resentment**

Severus Snape slumped into the headmaster's chair, leaned forward with his elbows set upon the ancient oak desk and buried his face into the palms of his hands. He held his eyes closed as tight as he could, pleading the night's events to fade from his mind.

"Severus?"

Snape raised his head wearily and craned his neck to the side of the chair, eyes darting upward to the portrait behind him. Dumbledore stared down from his portrait, his electric blue eyes piercing the passive exterior of the once potion's master of Hogwarts.

"Potter has the sword, as you instructed," said Snape, his voice flat.

"That is excellent news," said the portrait, "but forgive me, Severus, you seem far overexerted for the task that was at hand."

"There were…complications," said Snape, looking away. He stood then, hands flat on the desk, his gaze lost in the glassy surface of the Pensieve. He had seen many dark things in his life: the torture of innocents, mass killings of magical and non-magical people alike, and spells that few would willingly contemplate. Once, he had taken part in those things. But nothing had prepared him for dark magic he witnessed in the Forest of Dean.

"Nothing you could not overcome, I am sure."

"Miss. Granger's protective charms are exceptional but not flawless. They are adequately protected from the wandering Muggle or the inexperienced Snatcher stumbling through the country. They appear to relocate on a fairly frequent basis as well. She manages better than I expected for an unqualified witch."

"Your praise is as difficult to attain as ever, Severus," said Dumbledore as he clasped his hands together.

Snape detached himself from the desk and began to pace, arms tucked behind his back.

"Speak your mind, Severus," said Dumbledore, "I often found the answers to my questions by speaking them aloud."

"I do not wish to speak my thoughts at the present moment."

Snape halted a moment, his eyes fastened to the bookshelf in front of him.

"What has happened, Severus?"

"The ring that cursed you," said Snape, his lips curling into a grimace, "you concealed its true nature from me, didn't you?" Snape turned on his heels to stare accusingly at Dumbledore's enchanted painting. "The ring belonged to the Dark Lord." It was not a question.

Dumbledore did not answer. Instead, he nodded gravely.

Snape resumed his pacing, his steps accelerated.

"I've seen dark magic, Dumbledore, magic unfit for the eyes of adults, much less children." said Snape as he ran a hand through his greasy curtain of hair. "And yet, what I witnessed in the forest was an evil far beyond anything I'd ever imagined possible."

"What did you see, Severus," asked Dumbledore.

"I placed the sword at the bottom of a small, frozen pond at the edge of a forest clearing," said Snape, his eyes closed as he recounted the events. "As you directed, the sword needed to be claimed through a deed of courage. Potter stripped down—needlessly, mind you—broke the ice and plunged in. I waited for him to surface. The pool was no more than twenty feet deep. It quickly became clear Potter was having difficulties..." Snape shook his head as his pacing turned him about the room. His eyes found the large window overlooking the school grounds and beyond, the Black Lake. It was still dark.

"Harry came alone?"

"Yes," replied Snape. "He was clearly on watch when I lured him away with my Patronus."

Dumbledore nodded for Snape to continue.

"I approached the water to find him struggling with a locket about his neck," said Snape, his voice flat but his eyes lit faintly. "The locket appeared to be strangling him as it pulled him away from the sword and to the edge of the pond. I nearly intervened." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. Snape turned slowly once more, his eyes distant as he surveyed the previous Headmaster's face.

"Miss. Granger arrived just in time," he said, finally. "She rescued Potter from the pond and removed the locket from his neck. Potter insisted on making a second attempt but it was clear he was in no condition physically or emotionally to do so. Miss. Granger was likewise clearly emotional but appeared to have channeled it appropriately as she broke the ice sheet on the pond clean in half with a simple severing charm. She retrieved the sword without incident. I followed them back to their camp." Severus closed his eyes yet again, but even his skill of Legilimency and mental discipline could not un-see what had been seen. His ears could not un-hear what had been heard. He swallowed and recounted all of it.

"They referred to the locket as a Horcrux," asked Snape when he had finished. He eyed the portrait angrily, uncaring that his venom fell upon canvas and color. Dumbledore was dead, covered in marble. "I'm unfamiliar with the term, but I saw enough to know what it is, Dumbledore; they are destroying the fragmented soul of the Dark Lord."

"Yes, Severus, they are," said Dumbledore finally. Severus slumped once more into the headmaster's chair, summoned a bottle of Firewhiskey and poured a full glass.

"The ring that cursed you was one of these objects, yes? It contained a piece of the Dark Lord's soul?"

"It did."

"And they must be destroyed or the Dark Lord cannot truly die?"

"So long as a single one survives, even if he is ripped from his body once more, he cannot die."

"This is what you spent all your time last year teaching Potter?"

"Yes, and no," said Dumbledore. "It was actually Harry who discovered the depth of Tom's horrific scheme. I had suspected multiple Horcruxes… two or three, perhaps; I did not anticipate six of them. I taught Harry how Tom Riddle thinks. It is the key to finding them all. And Harry is uniquely gifted to do so."

"Six," repeated Snape, swallowing his first drink. "He made six of them?"

"You are taking it far better than I did, Severus."

"And you think Potter—with the help of Miss. Granger—will be able to find them all and destroy them?"

"I do," said Dumbledore.

"You said Potter shared a connection with the Dark Lord…that a piece of soul latched onto Potter when the killing curse failed?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Potter…he is one of them?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, closing his eyes. Snape poured a second glass and gripped it hard. He hated the boy. He loathed him. Still…to endure magic of such dark nature…to be handed a fate he, Severus, had been complicate in creating...was almost unfathomable. He drained the glass.

"Destroying the locket appeared to cause Potter a great deal of pain," said Snape after a pause.

"Voldemort's soul fragment is parasitic in nature," said Dumbledore sourly. "It has been attached nearly all of Harry's life, growing in strength."

"She knows his fate," said Snape, pouring a third glass. "It appears—as I've long suspected—she has feelings for Potter. Miss. Granger refuses to believe Potter must be left to his fate, and in turn, Potter refuses anything that might otherwise develop." Dumbledore smiled.

"This is excellent news."

"Excellent," repeated Snape as he scrutinized the portrait. "Miss. Granger—insufferable know-it-all she is—is far more deserving than Potter's affections." Snape drained the third glass.

"Harry does not deserve your resentment, Severus."

"He is his father over and again," said Severus, his mind tiring quickly of this repeated conversation. He hated the boy from day one. Why should that change tonight?

"You see only what you wish to see," said Dumbledore. "You continue to hold fast to a grudge wrought between you and a dead man, Severus."

"An arrogant, foolish, careless man who—"

"—made the decision you were to cowardly to make," interjected Dumbledore.

"—and allowed Lily to die," said Snape, his voice nearly rising to a yell.

"That is untrue, Severus," said Dumbledore as he rose from his chair and began to pace from one side of the portrait to the other. He did this several times before looking down on as Severus Snape as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

"I was wrong," said Dumbledore. "I believed your hatred of James were the remnants of a lingering schoolboy grudge." The aged headmaster's eyes widened in revelation. "You blame James for Lily's death."

"I blame them all," said Snape, vehemently, "the spineless rat, the gullible dog, and _him_." He eyed the emptied whisky glass. The lure of another glass sickened him. "_He_ should have protected her," he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"What more could James have done, Severus?"

"Everything…"

"Everything," repeated Dumbledore.

"…Should never have trusted…"

"And you, Severus?"

"I did everything I could."

"Did you," asked Dumbledore seriously. "Could you look Harry in the eyes and tell him you did all you could to keep him and his family safe?"

"I—"

"Or better yet, if you could stand before Lily, would she believe you, Severus, that you did all in your power to keep them safe?"

"I came to you," he said in retort.

"You sought me out of desperation," refuted Dumbledore. "You doubted Voldemort's assurances that he would spare Lily." Snape glared at the desk. Dumbledore shook his head. "Is this the answer you would give Harry, or Lily? That you asked Voldemort to spare her, regardless of the fate of James and Harry?"

"I spied for you, I did everything you asked of me," argued Snape.

"It was never about what you did for me, Severus," countered Dumbledore. "Do not act the victim here; it was you who set Voldemort on the path he now pursues. It was you, Severus, who voluntarily turned spy against Voldemort out of guilt."

"I returned to spy on your orders," said Snape.

"You could have refused."

"And from whom, I wonder, would you have received your intelligence, Dumbledore, had I not returned?"

"I daresay things would have gone further south than they had," admitted Dumbledore. "You are still not the victim. You spied out of necessity, Severus, necessity that transpired from the guilt that plagues your soul to this day. As much as it pains me to say it, Severus, you are the one ultimately responsible for the death of Lily and her husband, even though it was not by your wand. You, Severus, are ultimately the reason Harry has never known his parents."

"Enough," breathed Snape, his knuckles white as his hands balled into tight fists.

"Even now, more than a decade past, neither James' death nor Harry's looming fate weigh on your conscience—"

"Enough, I said," spat Snape. He stood from his chair and rounded on the accusatory portrait. "I have done all that you asked and more," he said through gritted teeth. ""I have protected him, I have endured the Dark Lord's wrath on account of him, I have suffered his ignorance—"

"—for all the wrong reasons," said Dumbledore. Snape, ready to retort, deflated almost instantly. He stared at the portrait, his fists still curled tightly and his mouth slightly agape, stunned into silence.

"Perhaps I am as much to blame as you," continued Dumbledore, "it was I, after all, that placed this path of redemption before you. I had hoped the grudge forged between you and James would soften in the passing years, years that Harry spent separated from the magical world. I had hoped that the day might come when you would look upon Harry and you would not see the son of James, or the son of Lily, but to see him as his own person." Snape slumped once more into the headmaster's chair, his head and shoulders slumped over as he stared at the floor.

"What difference does it make whether I hate the boy or not, Dumbledore," he asked quietly. "The boy will die regardless of my feelings toward him."

"What difference does it make," asked Dumbledore. "Resentment is an unnecessary, heavy burden to carry, Severus. You are still among the living; do not let slip the opportunity to make amends. Take it from an old, old man who wore similar shoes; do it before it is too late."

"No," he said simply.

Dumbledore shook his head wearily. The man in the portrait was not the least bit surprised however. He had been unable to persuade Snape when he lived; he did not reasonably expect a different result in death.

"You know, Severus, I think what burns so painfully within you is the very same thing that burned painfully within me," said Dumbledore after several minutes of silence. "Where as I found shame, you found resentment for Harry because at the early age of eleven, he showed us all he was a far better man than either you or I have ever been; that he was far more selfless than you or I ever were or could ever possibly hope to be."

Snape did not reply. He did not see Dumbledore leave his portrait. He took no notice of the first rays of dawn's light as it crept into the study. He poured a fourth glass of Firewhiskey but left it untouched as he eyed the shimmering surface of the Pensieve once more.

Horcruxes.

Fragmented.

Soul.

Three words Severus did not want to remember. Three words the Dark Lord could never learn he knew. Snape drew himself unsteadily from his chair and withdrew his wand. He'd used the spell once, he remembered that much. It was his invention; the ultimate spell of a Legilimens.

"_Subsidium Memoria, in Perpetuum." _

A long silvery strain clung to the tip of his wand. He observed it, no longer aware of what the strand of memory contained. He held it for a moment, his mind temporarily curious of what had been so dangerous as to forget it forever. He flicked his wand gently. The silver strand slipped into the pool of reflective glass and swirled into a cloudy mass of silver and gray.

**Author Note:** I know, I know, this is not the chapter everyone was expecting. But a while back I had promised a chapter in honor of Alan Rickman, (Snape), and the moment finally came into fruition. I had part of this conversation sitting in the pile, intended for far later in the story, but somehow it just seemed right to insert it here. I hope everyone enjoys a slightly different take on why Snape dislikes Harry so much. (And consequently, James and Sirius). This is something I'll explore in greater detail in Courage Rising.

I am writing the next chapter too, so for those who were slightly resentful of the cliffhanger ending of the preceding chapter, I would advise you to read this chapter again. Resentment is a heavy burden to carry :)


	33. Fools Who Love

Hello! Sorry for the very long lapse. Sincerely. The little guy is approaching six months now, and appears to be falling into some semblance of schedule. So, I think this means I will be back to publishing a bit more regularly again. I won't drone on, as you've waited long enough. Enjoy and as always, appreciate the patience and your thoughts.

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Fools who Love**

Hermione felt her feet hit solid ground as a myriad of colors whirled around her. She knew from the moment she landed that something was different from her past experiences involving the Pensieve. She could feel the heavy currents of magic around her; thick as the mist from a sauna. She had never felt magic so present and…overwhelming. The swirl of color slowed and began to take shape; brilliant blue formed a backdrop, a sparkling blue-grey flooded out before her, and a golden hue rose high above her. Then, rolling hills of green took shape in the foreground and pointed peaks of white and grey jutted out in the far distance. Everything was blurry still, but Hermione found something familiar about the shape forming around her. The patchwork of colors sharpened and focused; she was on a small island, standing among a gathering of trees, surrounded by water.

Water she knew; the Black Lake.

She turned on her heels and saw it, towers reaching high. Hogwarts stood tall, bathed in brilliant sunlight, a beacon on a hill she had long felt a second home. A light breeze dashed betwixt the branches, bringing with it fresh mountain air. She turned again, looking for the white marble tomb, but it was as if Dumbledore had never been laid to rest here. The island was undisturbed.

"It is good to see you, Miss. Granger," said the voice Hermione had long hoped to hear. She turned a final time toward the voice and the castle. Albus Dumbledore stood in the place where his tomb should have been, the gold-trimmed edges of his silver robes playing a game of tag with the breeze. He looked tired but in good spirits as the sunlight shimmered from the reflection of his half-moon spectacles. She looked at his hands; his wand hand was as it had been—black and charred.

"What is this place," she asked him. "This is…nothing at all like the other memories I've visited..."

"No, it is not," said Dumbledore with a smile. He turned briefly and looked at the castle over his shoulder. "Even after all this time, I can be moved to breathless wonder at the sight of it," he said, nodding at the castle. "A truly magical place, Hogwarts. Centuries of captivating wonder and penetrating magic, some long forgotten. I wonder if anyone will ever learn all the secrets within." He turned his gaze back to Hermione and the same smile he had greeted her with grew quite large. His electric blue eyes twinkled at her, just as they had in life, carrying a joyful, youthful mirth she had never seen in anyone before; eyes that were still filled wonder and surprise.

"How does it work," she asked, unable to resist. "This memory, I mean."

"Through a combination of extraordinarily complex charms and enchantments, and no small amount of frustration," said Dumbledore, waving his injured hand. "However, the detailed explanation you seek, I fear, would take too much time; time we do not have, Miss. Granger…" The headmaster's eyes seemed to dull at the prospect of time. He now looked older than she had remembered him. Then, hardly a moment later, his eyes lit brightly again. "Should one be curious, though, they would find a detailed account in a leather bound journal, tucked between a first-printing edition of _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_, and a much older copy of _Grimm's Fairytales_."

Neither said anything as a gust of wind rushed through the trees. It was then that Hermione remembered herself and why she was here. She opened her mouth several times in an effort to speak, but found—for the first time in her life—she did not know where to begin.

"How is Harry," asked Dumbledore, finally, after observing her failed attempts to string two words together. The child-like wonder in her eyes dissolved as Harry's name left the headmaster's lips.

"He's…," she started, "he's…he…we've found one…," she finally said, unable to say the words ripping at her heart. "We've destroyed a Horcrux."

"That is excellent news," said Dumbledore, his eyes narrowing slightly as the smile on his face faded and turned to a subtle frown. "But how is Harry?"

Hermione felt the sharp stinging in her eyes but fought it defiantly. She turned away from the headmaster, biting her lower lip and clenching her fists in desperation, frantically clinging to all her remaining resolve—resolve that had been slipping away since rescuing Harry from the pond; she had to remain strong.

The world depended on it.

And Harry…Harry needed it most of all.

She scrunched her eyes and held back salty tears. She wanted to yell, to scream, to holler at the top of her lungs all that was wrong in the world—Harry's world—since Dumbledore had departed from it. Dumbledore said nothing in that moment and instead moved to her side, next to a nearby tree and leaned against its trunk. Hermione chose not to meet Dumbledore's gaze. When she did open her eyes, she looked beyond him, over his shoulders and up at the castle she once believed would always be a refuge from the darkness outside.

"Which Horcrux did you find," asked Dumbledore. Hermione welcomed the change in subject.

"The locket."

"So you were able to discern our mysterious R.A.B.?"

"Yes, Harry…how did you know?"

"When Harry and I last spoke, he indicated the locket recovered from the cave was a fake."

"Wait a minute," she said, forgetting once more the task at hand to satisfy her curiosity. "Are you saying you recall the conversation you had with Harry, from your other memory, or whatever this is?"

"Yes," answered Dumbledore simply. However, he did not elaborate.

"Fascinating," she said, more to herself than Dumbledore before she remembered Dumbledore's question. "Anyway, Harry actually figured it out—stumbled upon it really. Turns out it was Sirius' brother, Regulus, who found out about You-Know-Who's—"

"—Lord Voldemort," interjected Dumbledore. "You are too much a courageous witch to fear a name, Miss. Granger."

"It's a habit now," said Hermione irritably. "Name's been jinxed—Ministry picks up on anyone that says his name—quite brilliant, actually; one more attempt to catch Harry, no doubt."

"I am inclined to agree," nodded Dumbledore. "Forgive my interruption, Miss. Granger. As you were saying, Regulus discovered the Horcrux?"

"Yeah, Kreacher told us about it. Would you believe Voldemort actually used Kreacher to test that poison? He forced Kreacher to drink the entire contents and left him to be drug to the bottom of the lake by Inferi."

"Vile indeed, but not in the least bit surprising," said Dumbledore, stroking his beard. "Pardon my curiosity, but how did Kreacher survive?"

"By luck," answered Hermione truthfully. "Regulus called him back and Kreacher Apparated home."

"Ah, yes, he would have done," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Lord Voldemort would never consider the strength of the magic between a house elf and his master to rival his own protective enchantments." Hermione nodded.

"So Regulus figured it out, I guess, prepared a fake locket with a note inside, told Kreacher to take him to the cave and drank the poison himself. He ordered Kreacher to take the real locket, replace it with the fake, and…and told Kreacher to leave him and destroy the locket as soon as he could."

"And was Kreacher able to destroy the locket?"

"No…no, he couldn't. That's why he was always punishing himself."

"The Horcrux was at Grimmauld all this time?"

Hermione gave a feeble nod and spent the next several minutes describing all that happened at the ministry.

"You three have suffered quite the ordeal, but I must tip my hat to you; acquiring the locket was no small feat."

"We were really lucky, but there was a price," said Hermione. Dumbledore waited, attentive and still leaning against the tree.

"The Horcrux…we didn't have the means to destroy it right away," said Hermione, giving Dumbledore a piercing look for the first time. "We had to carry it—keep it with us—and I think it must have had powerful compulsion charms on it because it was so damn hard to resist wearing it. It seemed to know what we were thinking, made us think things were worse than they were—and things were pretty bad—and well, despite everything, one of us finally gave in." It was then—with hardly any awareness of her own—Hermione slumped down onto her knees and into the swaying grass.

"We were for-forced to leave Grimmauld Place and were on the run co-constantly, hiding in for-forests and hillsides, abandoned sh-shacks—anywhere we could find," she said, wiping away several tears. "Food was dwindling, it was co-cold, and we di-didn't have any idea where t-to start looking for the sword or any of the other Hor-Horcruxes. Then the fighting started; everyone was on edge."

Hermione swallowed and tried to regain some composure.

"One night, Harry and I were outside the tent and heard a group of goblins talking about Neville, and Ginny, and Luna—they were caught trying to steal the sword of Gryffindor from Snape's office. We heard one of th-the goblins say it was a fake. Harry and I ran to the tent to tell Ron; he was wearing the lo-locket." Hermione swept away a few more tears, took another deep breath, and went on, her eyes focused on a single blade of grass.

"He said awful things…hurtful things…mostly unfair and untrue things to Harry. And I know the locket fed on his fears, but he was no more exposed than Harry or I… They fought. Ron left—we've no idea where he is or if he's still..."

She couldn't finish. Angry, upset, hurt as she was by Ron's selfishness, she did not want to think about whether he was alive or not. She silently cursed herself for even contemplating the possibility that she might never hear his laugh again.

And yet, he had left.

"We waited all morning…"

Ron had abandoned her, but mostly, he had abandoned Harry. Hermione had thought she had no more tears for Ron—she certainly had no wish to shed more on his behalf—but closed her eyes shut, willing away the sharp pain in her chest.

"It's just been Harry and me since then…"

Her heart lunged sharply into her ribs. Her lungs constricted at Harry's name. Harry…

_"My life isn't worth any more than anyone else's..."_

His words—despite nearly drowning in a frozen pond—were filled with conviction.

No.

Total resignation.

"_I'm sorry…but it has to be this way…_"

Before she could stop herself, before she could weigh the burden of her thoughts, the words slipped from her lips.

"I…I ca-can't lose him…"

She looked up at Dumbledore then—or she tried to, but her glistening eyes were blinded in the sun overhead—silently pleading that he would understand the turmoil twisting inside her. Blinded still, she did not see Dumbledore leave his tree, drop to his own knees in front of her, and place both hands on her shoulders. The headmaster's gentle touch—unexpected and unseen—melted away the remnant strength she possessed. Her tears unrestrained, dropped quietly into the grass. And Dumbledore did not disturb her. He simply remained before her on bended knee, holding her gently by the shoulders as he waited for emotions to run their course.

"Do not give up yet, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore after several minutes. "All is not lost—not yet."

"How can you know that," she asked, her voice raising several octaves. "How can you say that? The Order is practically in hiding, Death Eaters roam Hogwarts while the Ministry continues its crusade on Muggleborns, Ron's gone who knows where, we've no idea where the other Horcruxes are—let alone what they are—and Harry…Harry's one of them…"

It was here that Hermione's eyes narrowed accusingly on Dumbledore. Her abated anger poured out from within her in a furious, torrential wave.

"You wanted to know how Harry is; I'll tell you! He needs you and you're not here! He needs you, not a children's book, a magical cylinder, or a defective Snitch!" Hermione was standing now, her chest rising and falling rapidly with short breaths. Her hands were shaking and her throat felt as though she'd swallowed liquid fire, but she couldn't stop. The words came too easily.

"You weren't there at Godric's Hollow," she lamented. "You didn't hear the words he spoke to his parent's grave! You didn't see the longing in his eyes when we'd found the house! You didn't see the disappointment in his face when Bathilda revealed your friendship with Grindleweld, or your plan to enslave Muggles! Harry admired you—stood unwaveringly to the Scrimgeour— and trusted your judgement!

"You weren't there to drag him from a frozen pond as he nearly drowned! You weren't there to pull the Horcrux from his neck as it nearly strangled him! You weren't there to hear his pleading when the Horcrux was destroyed! You weren't there because you trusted Snape!"

Dumbledore did not move as Hermione continued to level complaints against him. He did not interrupt her, nor did he hold his hands up defensively. He did not look away. Hermione turned her back to him. She let her shoulders drop and hung her head in defeat.

"I'm pathetic," she said, finally, "getting angry at what—a memory, a projection—whatever you are? You're not real—no matter how much you look like him, feel like him, speak like him, or act like him—you're not Dumbledore. And even if you were, who am I to criticize you; Harry told me for months Snape couldn't be trusted—years, actually—and I turned an eye, just like you. He was right about Malfoy too. The weasel took the Dark Mark. He found a way to bring them inside the castle. Bill was injured, badly. You were killed. Harry…Harry was left to pick up the pieces." She turned again, looked at the headmaster to see misty blue eyes looking back at her.

"Please," she said, her anger dissolving to a plea. "Please tell me it doesn't have to end the way Harry thinks it does. Please tell me he's not a Horcrux."

"He told you, then?"

"He hadn't planned to tell me, I don't think," answer Hermione. She paused a moment, allowing the night to replay in her mind. "I went to get a few hours' sleep while Harry kept watch just outside the tent…" She told Dumbledore everything; how she woke to find Harry and the locket missing, her frantic search of the forest, rescuing Harry from the pond and the Horcrux, and finally, retrieving Gryffindor's Sword.

"He couldn't take it," she recounted. "Harry said it wouldn't budge. I had to get it."

"You said Harry was wearing the locket," asked Dumbledore, curiously.

Hermione nodded.

"The sword presents itself only to a worthy Gryffindor," said Dumbledore. "That is not to say Harry is unworthy," he added quickly, catching Hermione's eyes. "Simply stated, it is possible the Horcrux within the locket may have interfered. Additionally, I would guess from everything you have told me about the locket—and Mr. Weasley's particular vulnerability to it—that Harry was likely feeling immense guilt over Bathilda and possible others. While one does not need to be fearless to be courageous, guilt—and other emotions like it—can easily overwhelm us. Despair is but one of many products of guilt. Given recent events and the likely state of mind Harry was in at the time, I do not think I am wrong to believe that the sword would not have willingly submitted to Harry."

"Harry said something like that," admitted Hermione. "He told me I had to destroy the Horcrux." That was when everything changed. She told Dumbledore everything; the taunting words of the fragmented soul, Harry's tortured pleading, the shared embrace and confession.

"He said, _my life isn't worth any more than anyone else's_, those were his words," she said, wiping away fresh tears. "He might never have said anything. Please," she added, her eyes swimming and burning again. "Please tell me he's wrong."

"Identifying a Horcrux is fairly simple when you know what you're looking for," said Dumbledore, his eyes duller than Hermione had ever remembered them, "—though certainly dangerous, as you three have undoubtedly learned. The locket, for instance, played on your deepest, darkest secrets, fears, ambitions—things that Voldemort would attempt to exploit. In other words, they always contain characteristics of the individual whom the soul fragment belongs. But to identify one contained within a living being? That is no easy task. Horcruxes—to my knowledge—had never been created in such a way."

Dumbledore continued to speak, revealing the brief details of his quest for more detailed accounts of Horcruxes.

"I found a spell that can identify a Horcrux," said Dumbledore finally. "I entered Harry's dorm, performed the spell, and left in utter despair. I am truly sorry, Miss. Granger, but there is no question, no doubt, that Harry is the Horcrux Voldemort never meant to make."

Hermione was stunned; fear, anguish, desperation, denial, illogical hope—these feelings swirled in her stomach and chest with incomprehensible force.

"So…So he really…Harry…," she looked at Dumbledore, lips trembling with every word, "Harry…has to die…?"

"The container of a Horcrux must be destroyed, for it is that which keeps the fragment of soul bound to the world," said Dumbledore, gravely.

"But Harry isn't a container, he's a living person!"

"What is a body if not a container for the soul? Remember, while a Horcrux safeguards a fragment of soul from destruction, it also binds it to the world. Without it, the soul fragment would—for lack of a better word—depart. While the great mystery of the soul is far beyond our comprehension, we know when our bodies fail and our vital organs cease to operate, we die. Such as it is, our soul disperses. The difference between our earthly bodies and Horcruxes is the difference of the natural and the unnatural. It is a violation of nature to rend a soul asunder and furthermore to bind it to the world in perpetuity."

"So if Harry dies, Voldemort's fragmented soul will disperse…?"

"Precisely," said Dumbledore.

"But so will Harry's soul…"

"That is what _should_ happen," said Dumbledore, this time his voice carrying a softer note.

"_Should happen?" _

"Tell me, Miss. Granger, did you make use of the Pensieve I gave you?"

"Yes," said Hermione, heart racing. "Why?"

"Did Harry by chance share with you the night of Voldemort's return?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't know where Dumbledore was going, but a new amber of hope sparked to life inside her.

"You recall what Voldemort required for the ritual to regain his body?"

"Flesh of a servant, bone of a father, and blood of an enemy," she said, her mind racing at full speed.

"Yes, precisely," said Dumbledore, clenching his own fist. "Blood that carries Lily's sacrifice, a protection that now lies dormant in the blood coursing through Voldemort's veins—a protection, Miss. Granger, which still lives within Harry—that could be reactivated. The protection remains, carrying the intent and will of a mother's desire, born out of love, to save her child from the one intent upon destroying him. I believe Harry can reactivate this protection, but to do so is to follow in his mother's footsteps and—"

"—And give his life without defense," said Hermione, her voice hollow.

"Yes."

"And you think this will save him?"

"I believe that such a selfless act would place the soul fragment within Harry's scar at risk, rather than his own."

"I don't understand."

"Simply stated, while Harry forfeits his life—thus his soul free and untethered to the world—Voldemort would still be living, Harry's blood running in his veins, carrying the will and intent his Lily Potter, born of the strongest, deepest magic known."

"Love," said Hermione, almost shouting. "Love…_a power He knows not_!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I believe this protection would shield Harry's soul, directing the killing curse to the soul fragment residing within him; Lord Voldemort would unknowingly destroy his last remaining tether to immortality, leaving Harry undamaged and whole."

"But you don't know for certain?"

"No, I do not, Miss. Granger," acknowledged Dumbledore heavily. "It is theory, untested, unproven, and unheard of. But then, so was surviving the Killing Curse. Yet Lily accomplished such a thing as this for Harry. Perhaps it is a combination of many highly unlikely events converging into one; a prophecy brought into contention, a mother's love, and one man's pursuit of unnatural magic and his determination to destroy an individual who—despite his upbringing and terrible burdens—carries love so profoundly as to embarrass and shame those who would likewise think they love. It is easy to learn to love when we are surrounded by those who likewise love. It is a miracle to learn to love when all you've known is hate and neglect."

"So I just…let him do it," she asked, shaking her head. "I…I'm not sure I can do that. I can't do that!"

"You cannot," said Dumbledore, looking all the more triumphant. "And it is good that you cannot. Love cannot be deterred, Miss. Granger. We fools who love are bound to it."

"I—" she started to say, but found her words failing. She had not told Dumbledore. She hadn't even told Harry. And yet…

_Please help me save him…Please…I love him. _

Yes. That was when the vial had turned blue. Dumbledore had known.

"I do love him," she said, admitting the truth she had long kept guarded.

"And that is what you must do, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore. "For his life depends on it."

"How? What can I possibly do? You've said he has to die. Or at least, try to, right?"

"The power that resides in Lily's protection is founded upon love, Miss. Granger," said Dumbledore. "And while I believe that same protection can spare Harry his fate, it does not demand he remain."

"Are you saying...do you mean to say that Harry could…choose?"

"Little is known about the mysteries of death. But the ghosts of Hogwarts could tell you they _chose_ their feeble imitation of life instead. Thus, they remained as ghosts. Their deaths were by natural means—or as natural as could be, all things considered—and their souls were whole."

"But why would Harry even consider…not staying?" The words had leapt from her throat. But even as the words tumbled from her lips, she gave pause to her thoughts.

"Can you think of no reason he might elect not to remain? His part in the prophecy could be considered complete assuming his passing on. Voldemort, skilled, deadly, and dangerous, would be mortal once again. Anyone could kill him, given no small amount of luck."

"Everyone he loves is already gone," she answered. "Yes…"

"Not quite," said Dumbledore, looking pointedly at Hermione. "But your sentiment is accurate. So you must love him, Miss. Granger. While harry has shown remarkable resilience to the temptations of false promises of reuniting him with his family; however, should he be given a path that offers the true possibility…"

Yes…I understand," said Hermione. "I don't think I could blame him. But then I…the world wouldn't…my world wouldn't be the same without him."

They fell silent then, giving way to the chirping of birds and soft splashing of water against the island's shore. Then, unexpectedly, the soft breeze lofting among the trees picked up and the surface of the Black Lake turned rough. The sound of thunder cracked behind them.

"We have only a little time longer," said Dumbledore, observing the fast moving clouds. "I have a few other things I wish to speak of; Mr. Weasley among them."

"Why," asked Hermione, harsher then she intended but certainly portraying how she felt.

"I believe Mr. Weasley may yet find his way back."

"How," she asked, shrugging hopelessly this time. "It's not like we can leave any sign for him, can we? And who said I want him back? He left us! Harry and I can do it on our own!"

"You do need him, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore with a small but sad smile. "And you do care. Though I would not deny you the privilege of—what is the phrase—_giving him what-for_."

"Again, _professor_, how will he find us?"

"I left him the means to do so," said Dumbledore as though it were as obvious as someone saying the sun would rise in the east. Hermione furrowed her brows for a moment, thinking quickly. Then, as though the answer had always been with her, her eyes widened.

"The Deluminator?!"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, smiling truly this time. "I admit, adding the ability to turn of Muggle lamp posts was a bit of a whim, but any witch or wizard of modest skill would not need such a device."

"You mean to say it had other functions?"

"Oh yes," said Dumbledore. "Several, in fact."

"Then he shall be lost forever," said Hermione.

"As I said, Mr. Weasley has everything he needs to come back, but it will be his choice when—and _if_—he decides what is truly important to him."

Hermione didn't respond, but nodded. Another crack of thunder boomed over the mountain tops. Small drops of rain started to fall and the wind was steady now.

"The book," she said.

"One story in particular should draw your attention," said Dumbledore.

"Children's tales," she asked incredulously. "You're not suggesting those stories are actually real, are you?"

"All stories are based on some semblance of truth," argued Dumbledore. "But I refer only to one story."

"The Tale of the Three Brothers?"

"Precisely that one."

"But that's the most farfetched of them all!"

"Is it, truly," asked Dumbledore. "You know there are at least two ways to live in seeming immortality; a Sorcerer's Stone, and Horcruxes."

"But to meet Death himself?"

"Oh, I highly doubt the three men in the story ever met death."

"An unbeatable wand, then? An invisibility cloak powerful enough to _hide you from death_, and a stone to revive the dead? Even you have said no spell can reawaken the dead," protested Hermione.

"Yes, and that is true," said Dumbledore. "No _spell_ can reawaken the dead. But there are ways, Miss. Granger, to be reunited with loved ones who are gone. Something to think about, yes?"

"All right, asked Hermione, "and the Snitch—what does it do?"

"It will open when the time is right," said Dumbledore. "Something Harry will need before the last confrontation." The rain fell hard on them now as Hermione watched the mountains fade and water of the Black Lake slowly swirl and blur into the background.

"You never answered my other question," she said.

"Which was that?"

"Snape," she said. "You never said why you trusted Snape."

Dumbledore smiled sadly at her before he swirled out of focus. When he spoke, it echoed around her.

"_Professor_, Snape, Miss. Granger," he corrected. "And I still trust Severus Snape. Things are not always what they appear to be, Miss. Granger."


	34. Hand-Me-Downs

**So very sorry for the long wait; I won't keep you long from the reading, so no overly-long introduction this time. I have several chapters that are nearly ready for publishing, so hang tight. More is on the way. **

**Cheers, **

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Hand-Me-Downs**

There was no denying it anymore, he thought to himself as he stood on the mound of mixed sand, dirt, gravel, and sparse shoots of grass overlooking the beach. He closed his eyes as the morning sun blazed over him, warming his face amid the brittle bite that lingered in the winter air. High tide had come already, leaving smooth beach in its wake. Had he visited during happier times, he would have enjoyed the view and the calming roll of the waves.

Behind him, Shell Cottage waited, as did Fleur and Bill. They had welcomed him into their home graciously. The welcome was short, however, as they soon launched a barrage of questions at him: where were Harry and Hermione? Why hadn't they come? Why was he—Ron—alone? Ron told them nothing, of course. The _interview_ had been uncomfortable. Ron affirmed over and again that the trio had simply been separated and that he would search them out later that morning. But by the time Ron had returned to the campsite, he'd found it empty. He waited hours for them to return, telling himself over and over again that they had simply gone to get food, or that Hermione had simply added more charms and protections to the tent and that was why he couldn't see it anymore. As darkness fell that night, Ron called out to them, but no one came for him. Harry and Hermione had gone on without him.

The search continued; each morning after breakfast, Ron would depart from Shell Cottage, checking anywhere he thought Harry and Hermione would have gone, returning each night around supper time, empty handed and without cause for a joyous celebration. It was near Christmas when Bill had suggested reaching out to the Order for help, but instead, Ron pleaded with Bill not to tell anyone he had been staying at the cottage. Bill had been uneasy with the request—Ron knew he would be, but he saw little choice in it. It was the worst Christmas he could ever remember.

He opened his eyes and watched the waves roll and collapse on the beach again. Several weeks had passed since his arrival at Shell Cottage and he had failed miserably in locating his abandoned friends. To make matters worse, Bill had informed him over breakfast that _enough was enough_, and that their father would be arriving later that morning to _sort things out_.

Ron swallowed hard.

He knew it was hopeless. He had brainstormed a hundred different scenarios to tell his father—anything that might ease the great pangs of guilt that stabbed at his gut. Unfortunately, the one thing that might make his father remotely sympathetic to his plight was the one thing he could discuss with no one; Horcuxes. He swallowed the uncomfortable truth: it wasn't the fact that the locket Horcrux had brought out the worst in him that caused such shameful pangs in his stomach to writhe and twist; no, what bothered him—tormented him—was that he had feelings and thoughts the Horcrux could latch onto in the first place. Ron knew he wasn't perfect—neither were Harry or Hermione. But now, standing on the beach without any idea if his friends were safe, he knew he was far more selfish than either of his two best friends. That was to no fault of the Horcrux.

Amid another slosh of waves, there was a faint but distinct _pop_ near the cottage. Ron looked over his shoulder and saw his father standing at the door, wrapped in his heavily patched traveling cloak with a hand extended and shaped into a fist. Ron listened to the echo of the fast-paced knocking and swallowed again. He knew he could save his father and brother time if he simply called out, but found his throat had tightened uncomfortably and his mouth had dried despite the moist, salty air. Ron watched as Bill answered the door, shook his head and mouthed a few words, shrugged, then, finally point to the grassy mound where Ron stood petrifyingly still, waiting for the confrontation.

Ron did not watch his father's approach. He turned his eyes to the rolling waves once more, determined to focus on them as he had never focused on his school lessons—much less anything else—wishing he had learned to apply this kind of discipline to anything other than Quidditch.

Mr. Weasley ascended the hill and stood side-by-side with Ron, his eyes on the sea and without a greeting to his youngest son. The silence stretched over several waves. Finally, Ron chanced a look from the corner of his eye and was surprised at what he saw. Mr. Weasely did not look angry. On the contrary, Ron had never seen him so…pained. His face was held slightly down, his eyes—usually sharp and focused—were weary and…watery, and the faintest frown lined his lips. Ron would have preferred his father to yell. Several more waves approached and dispersed along the shore.

After considerable time, Mr. Weasley folded his hands together behind his back and started to rock on his heels of his boots, his eyes yet seaward. Then, at last, Mr. Weasley broke the silence.

"Bill tells me you were separated from Harry and Hermione. Says you've been gone from breakfast 'til supper time every day since you first arrived, searching for them. That true?"

Ron only nodded; he didn't trust his ability to speak.

"Where were you last, before you were separated," his father asked, still rocking on his heels.

"Forest," said Ron, finally getting a word to escape his constricted throat. "Hermione," he said, with a small wince he hoped his father didn't see, "put up all sorts of protections and enchantments, but they're not there anymore." Ron swallowed a third time. His palms were sweaty.

"How long have you been separated?"

"Early Novemeber."

"I see," said Mr. Weasley. "And you've been here ever since?"

"Yeah."

"But you didn't come home."

"I was trying to find Harry and Hermione," answered Ron, his voice growing weaker by the word.

"Naturally, but as you've returned every night, you could have come home for Christmas Supper." said Mr. Weasley, his eyes yet to waver from the ocean. Another slosh of waves dispersed along the beach. "Bill and Fleur did. Fred and George were there too. Even Charlie managed to come home." Mr. Weasley sighed and finally tore his eyes from the water and turned to his youngest son. Ron couldn't meet his father's gaze.

"There were four empty chairs at the table this year," he said, his voice no longer masking the hurt. "Percy's was empty. Harry's was empty. Hermione's was empty. And so was yours."

"Sorry."

It was all Ron could manage; the only word that would escape his constricted throat, his dried mouth, and his twisting stomach.

"Sorry," Mr. Weasley repeated. "Powerful word—sorry." Ron braced himself, ready for the telling off he knew he deserved. Another set of waves tumbled to shore.

"Sorry," said Mr. Weasley again, a bit more forceful. Ron saw his father's eyes narrow. "What are you sorry for, exactly?"

"I…"

"Bill told me you won't tell him anything—understandable, I suppose, given the nature of what you three are up to—but I can't help but think there is more to this story than simply being separated, am I right?"

"Dad…"

But Ron could say nothing further as he felt his stomach constrict and drop into his bowels. He swallowed hard for a fourth time, willing words—any words at all—to spew forth. But words had failed him completely now. Only silence escaped his slightly agape mouth and still tongue.

"I thought so," answered Mr. Weasley with a sigh. Again, just when Ron had thought his father might turn red and demand an accounting, he only looked more disappointed. Mr. Weasley had stopped rocking on his heels. He now stood very rigid and gripped his hands tightly behind his back and waited expectantly.

"We had a fight," said Ron, finally, saying the words in a single, rushed breath.

Mr. Weasley said nothing, careful not to interrupt.

"We were having a rough go of it for a while," he said, wanting desperately for the conversation to end. "What food we did have was nothing like mum's, mostly mushrooms, fish, things like that. And Hermione did her best, I suppose, but she's not very good at food. The weather was miserable too—lots of cold, rainy days. The tent was alright, but cold breezes always managed to seep through." He paused, thinking carefully so as to not mention Horcruxes. He decided on the truth.

"One night it was too much," he said. "We hadn't really made any progress since the ministry. Then, Harry and Hermione discovered we needed something—something that would be nearly impossible to get our hands on—something that, without it, would make the whole mission a failure. I…"

Mr. Weasley watched his son slip into silence.

"You decided you'd had enough, is that it," offered Mr. Weasley.

Ron nodded shamefully.

"Yeah, we overheard a couple goblins, some bloke named Dirk, Ted Tonks, and Dean Thomas—they were on the run—heard them mention Ginny and our other friends had gotten into trouble at Hogwarts. Anyway, they mentioned Snape had caught them trying to break into his office and punished them. They said…_last thing the Weasley's need is another kid injured_…I just, snapped. Told Harry he didn't understand…because he didn't have a family…"

Ron wished he hadn't said anything then. Until now, his father—despite his disappointment showing clearly—appeared receptive, open, and willing to understand. But as Ron's last words escaped his lips, Mr. Weasley's face had soured and looked quite ill.

"Of all the thoughtless, selfish things you could say, Ronald Weasley—that is the most self-serving of them all!"

"I…"

"I told you, did I not, that if you couldn't set aside your jealously—your self-indulged perspective of his imagined, privileged life—that you would be better served to remain behind?"

Ron could say nothing. His shame and guilt boiled hot within his stomach.

"What else happened?"

"Told him he didn't care about the family," he said, his voice dropping lower still. "Hermione stepped in at that point—told me I was over-reacting to things—told me people would already know about Bill's scarring and George's ear, and me being _sick_ at home. Told her she didn't understand either—her parents were safe in Australia…"

Mr. Weasley closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists for a brief moment. He was angry, Ron could see that. But then tears began to leak from beneath his father's closed eyelids and Ron knew then, more than anything, that his father was more than angry, because he had seen it once before when Percy had abandoned the family. Before Ron could even stop himself, words began pouring from his mouth, words he hadn't planned.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, finding his eyes wet with his own tears. "I messed up, I know it. After it all happened, I left. Hermione stayed. And now I have no idea where they are."

"Sometimes sorry isn't enough, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes opening and closing several times to wash away the tears. His eyes fell upon a small boulder nearby and sat on it, his hands falling loosely onto his knees.

"You always wanted what your brothers had," said Mr. Weasley, after a few moments. "Then— later—when it was handed down to you, it was no longer what you desired. Rather than cherish and appreciate what had been given, you readily discarded or regarded with disdain, your eyes lingering on the next _thing_ your brothers had.

"Your mother always knitted you jumpers, sweaters, socks—things that took time to make. I know you think she did those things because we were not particularly wealth—and it certainly helped our finances at the time—but you would be wrong to think that's why she did it; she did it because she loved her boys.

"You've never went without," continued Mr. Weasley. "You've always had a roof over your head, plenty of food to eat, but most of all, you've always had siblings and parents that _loved_ you. What did Harry have?"

Ron didn't answer. He wanted to say Harry had a lot of things he didn't—which was true—but he knew this would not be the answer his father would want to hear. And if Ron was honest with himself, he didn't like his answer any more than his father would.

"Do you know why your mother decided to give Harry Fabian's watch for his seventeenth birthday, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. It had been a surprise. He knew his mother considered the watch a priceless heirloom. His mother did not often talk about Fabian, or Gideon. Ron knew of course, that they had been in the original Order of the Phoenix, and had died fighting several Death Eaters.

"Perhaps it would be best to explain why none in the family got it," said Mr. Weasley thinking more. "Your mum considered giving it to Bill on his seventeenth; he earned twelve Outstanding marks on his O. W. Ls , Prefect, and then Head Boy. He pursued a dangerous career—curse breaking, as you know—very demanding profession. But Bill was a bit careless—reckless even. No, your mother thought it wasn't quite right. He got a new watch instead. Still has it too!

"Charlie was even more reckless than Bill. Didn't do quite as well as Bill had academically, but he was bright, with his own set of accomplishments; Prefect, Quidditch Captain, and a profound talent with magical creatures. It's no wonder dragons were so captivating for him. We got him a new watch too.

"Percy very much followed in Bill's footsteps—twelve O. W. Ls , Prefect, Head Boy, top marks in his N. E. W. Ts , his attention set upon entering the Ministry. But Percy was…selfish. He, like you, hated the…status of our family—"

"—I don't hate our status—"

"Perhaps not as much as Percy did, but you were never satisfied either," Mr. Weasly cut in. "Anyway, the point is, we got him a new watch. He validated your mother's instinctive decision after You-Know-Who returned to his body.

"Then along came Fred and George—and in the most peculiar ways, they were like Gideon and Fabian. Academic success simply held no sway over them, but that by no means disqualified them as intelligent. Like Fabian, Fred and George were care-free, not care-less. They enjoyed life. They did not complain about the state of their robes, or the second-hand books. Instead, they looked toward the future and decided to make their own path. But we couldn't give one a new watch and the other Fabians. They received new watches as well. And it the right thing, your mum concluded. There was still something they were missing.

"I'm proud of all my children, Ron," said Mr. Weasley, letting out a long breath. "Each has made me prouder than I can ever express. Bill has found a woman as good as any a man could hope to marry and gives without much thought to his own. Charlie is wild at heart, but there are few cut out to tame and manage dragons. Percy, misguided and wandering blindly, has moved through the ministry with relative ease, even before the corruption and return of You-Know-Who. Fred and George own a successful business and they share their gift of making laughter, even in times as dark as these. Ginny is fierce, competitive, and has all the best qualities of your mother. I've been disappointed with all my children at one time or another, but I've never been more proud of them either." He reached out and took Ron by the shoulders and gripped him firmly. "And I'm proud of you too."

Ron looked up disbelievingly into his father's eyes.

"But I—"

"—Messed up, yes," said Mr. Weasley. "Splendidly, even."

"But why are you—"

"—Proud of you," asked Mr. Weasley? "Because you went through a trapdoor to help keep the Sorcerer's Stone from You-Know-Who. I'm proud of you because you were willing to brave the bowels of Hogwarts to save your sister. I'm proud of you because you followed a friend to uncertain, unknowable danger in the hopes of saving the only semblance of family he knew. I'm extraordinarily proud of you. None of your brothers have done such a thing as that."

"But you gave me a new watch," said Ron, more to himself than his father.

"Mr. Weasley smiled.

"Yes…we bought you a new watch…after all, you've never been fond of old, worn, dented hand-me-downs."

Ron had never felt so sick in his life. The words washed over him as though he had stood in the cold ocean waves.

"Mum never talks about them," said Ron, finally.

"Their deaths were hard on your mum," said Mr .Weasley.

"So why did Harry get it," asked Ron. "Mum never let any of us touch it. Even when we cleaned the shelves, she always took care of that one."

"I think you already know the answer, Ron," said Mr. Weasley simply, getting up off the boulder. He took a few steps down the sandy hill, making his way back toward Shell Cottage. Then, for a moment, he paused, looked over his shoulder and said, "if you don't know it, then you don't know Harry as well as you think you do."


	35. The Hills of Ottery St Catchpole

**Chapter Thirty-Four: The Hills of Ottery St. Catchpole. **

More than an hour had passed since Hermione had left Harry standing alone, outside the tent. His thoughts were scattered and unfocused, mirroring the swell of emotions that swirled in his chest. For a brief moment, he felt weightless and free, his fingers still grazing his lips where Hermione's had been not long ago. Within that pause of time, Harry no longer thought of Bathilda Bagshot, or Horcruxes, or Dumbledore. For one, short-lived glimpse of eternity, Harry no longer needed or wanted anything from the world because she had given him everything he had ever wanted; love.

His elation vanished quickly, however, as his stomach boiled with sour bile, realizing he had kissed his best-mate's girl. Despite Hermione's confession after the confrontation with the Horcrux, his own, buried and unprofessed feelings, and the fact that Ron had abandoned him and Hermione did little to assuage the guilt. On the contrary, it only seemed to validate the constricting of his heart. It didn't matter that Hermione had initiated. It didn't matter that Hermione shared the same buried feelings that he did. It didn't matter that she and Ron were not involved. The guilt was real.

What he needed was for her to understand. He needed her to see there were no alternatives than the path before them, that only one fate awaited him. More than anything, he wanted her to understand why he needed to do it—why he couldn't run.

He ran into the tent, desperately clinging to the words he had rehearsed in his mind, only to find the Pensieve displayed on the small, circular kitchen table, the empty vial lying beside it, and Hermione nowhere in sight. He knew, then, the vial Dumbledore had left her had finally turned blue and warm. Time halted as he slumped into a chair, his heart beating fast and fearful that he wouldn't get the chance to explain before Dumbledore surely would.

When Hermione did emerge—a very strange phenomenon to witness, considering Harry had never before been the observer when someone left the Pensieve. Her eyes were wet, puffy, and red. She was angry—Harry saw it as plain as day. She was angry with him, angry with Dumbledore—and if Harry knew her like he thought he did—more than livid with Voldemort. It was here that Harry's mind traveled back in time, to the smelly, spidery broom shed at the edge of the Burrow.

_"Yes, I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them."_

Of course, Dumbledore had been referring to the prophecy then, but Harry realized as Hermione stood before him, her chocolate brown eyes piercing into his, that he ought to have told her as well. He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he might have to tell her before the end. But not like this. This was never what he had intended.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he was startled when Hermione grabbed a chair and sat down next to him, her gaze having never left him.

"You talked with Dumbledore," asked Harry after several minutes.

Hermione pursed her lips tighter and nodded in reply. Despite this, she said nothing. Instead she appeared to be waiting for him to speak. Harry swallowed, unsure of where to start.

"Hermione…I didn't mean—it's just that I…I didn't want…"

Again, the broom shed flashed before him.

_ "I didn't want—"_

_"—to worry or frighten them? Or perhaps, to confess that you yourself are worried and frightened? You need your friends, Harry." _

He was frightened. Not for his life—not really. He had known all along where this conflict could lead to. Indeed, he suspected that his impending walk to meet death would be more difficult than he imagined, but he was not afraid—at least not now. No, he was afraid he would fail. He was afraid he would let them all down—that he would let her down. He was afraid that, if he confided in them the fate that waited for him at the end of the journey, he would lose the will to see the task to its completion. Instead, he vowed to carry this one burden alone.

_"I alone could prevent this, so I alone must be strong…"_

Those distant words floated in Harry's ears.

_"I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act…"_

The truth was he—like Dumbledore had to him—cared more for Hermione's happiness than the truth. And like Dumbledore, he had been navigating the same chessboard—albeit with less pieces. He had led Ron and Hermione here, keeping them ignorant of the truth; that the pursuit of Horcruxes would lead only to one conclusion—his death. He had done to Hermione and Ron what Dumbledore had done to him.

_"You're more like him than you know, Harry…you just won't let yourself believe it…"_

A sharp pain erupted in his chest. The pain of shame, and the pain of understanding at last—or at least some understanding—of why Dumbledore had carried the truth of the prophecy for so long. Harry raised his head so that he was once more level with Hermione.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "I—I didn't want to hurt you."

"I know."

"Hermione—I'd understand…you know—if you wanted to…"

But Harry could not say the last word, as it felt stuck in his throat.

Hermione shook her head and her eyes flashed dangerously. Harry swallowed that last word.

"I've already told you, Harry," she replied, looking at him pointedly. Her meaning was clear.

_"This time will be different…this time I'm stepping through the flames with you…" _

"You still want to see this to the end," he asked, his voice low and disbelieving, "even now, when you know how it has to end?"

"Yes," she said, her voice confident and full. "We'll find the rest of the Horcruxes and finish that monster once and for all, _and_," she added forcefully, "I will still find a way to save you."

"Hermione," he said, his voice rising to an uncomfortable pitch, "it's not possible."

"Oh I know it's impossible to convince you, or change your mind," admitted Hermione, her voice remaining steady, though her eyes gathered fresh moisture as she spoke. "I know you, Harry, better than you think I do. If you thought you could end the war today, you'd hand yourself over to that monster willingly. You love so much that you won't even think your life matters just as much as the rest of ours does, but I've told you already." She stood up from her chair, placed hands on both his cheeks and pulled him into the second kiss that night.

_Why did her lips have to taste like that? _

He leaned in a little, pressing his own lips into hers.

_ Why did they feel like they were taking all the pain away?_

He felt one of her hands move from his face and caress his neck.

_ NO! I can't let this go on._

Harry broke the kiss. Hermione took hold of his shoulders, her pursed lips spreading to reveal a tiny smile.

_This wouldn't do. _

"Hermione, we can't…I can't…"

Hermione, though, put a finger to his lips and gave him another piercing look that silenced him.

"You're the most important person in my life, Harry," she said. "I can't lose you. I'm too selfish to let the world, a prophecy, or a monster, take you from me. I know you can't accept it right now—because that's just who you are—but I can wait. And when it's over, when he's finally gone, I'm going to be even more incredibly selfish and take you far away from this place."

She then leaned forward and kissed him briefly on the forehead, grabbed her charmed bag, retrieved a sizeable stack of books, and before Harry could say another word, before she had even cracked open the copy of Beedle the Bard, she pointed to Harry's bunk.

"Get some sleep. We've got a lot of work to do."

**() () ()**

"We need to see Mr. Lovegood, Harry," said Hermione the next morning. She sat at the kitchen table, wrapped loosely in her blanket and clutched a simmering cup of tea in both her hands. Harry gave her a quick look. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and bags had formed beneath her eyes. Spread over the kitchen table were several books, each open and with bits of torn parchment and notes lying in the creases of the spine. She hadn't slept much, likely having read through the night. Harry timidly joined her at the table, his heart picking up several irregular beats as he remembered the previous night.

"Didn't sleep much," he asked softly.

"I dozed a bit," she admitted, her eyes glancing downward for a moment. "I'm alright—there will be plenty of time to sleep later."

"Hermione…"

"I said I was fine, Harry," said Hermione pointedly. "There's tea in the kettle, it should still be hot enough."

"Hermione, did Dumbledore…did he say anything, about…you know…" he motioned toward his scar and hoped the meaning got across.

"We talked about a few things," said Hermione, not quite meeting Harry's gaze. "Some of it was very personal," she added.

"Right," said Harry, nodding with full understanding. After all, he had said the very same thing to her while staying at Grimmauld. But he had to know.

"It's just…he promised me…not to say anything…"

"He didn't," said Hermione, who understood completely. "I told him I already knew."

Harry nodded. It was foolish, he knew, to hold onto the promise of a memory, but it was important, even if he couldn't rationalize why.

"But we did talk about a couple of things I think you should know."

Harry nodded, went to the kitchen counter, poured himself a cup of tea, and returned a moment later, ready to listen.

"First, the Deluminator," she started. She told Harry everything Dumbledore had told her of the Deluminator, and giving Harry her best guess as to why Dumbledore had left it to Ron.

"So Dumbledore thinks he'll want to come back," asked Harry, disbelievingly. But at the back of his mind, he desperately wanted that to be true.

"Dumbledore seemed to think so," said Hermione, the same disbelief carried in her voice. "At any rate, the Deluminator is clearly more than we thought at first glance. Which brings me to the book," she added, again holding up the copy of Beedle the Bard. "Dumbledore all but said the story we should be looking at is the Tale of the Three Brothers. I still don't want to believe it, Harry, but he seemed to suggest—though he wouldn't outright say it—that one or more of these objects actually exist."

"Does he think, you know, the brothers actually met Death?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No, but he did seem to suggest they were created by wizards…possibly the ones from the story. And then there's the symbol, here," she said, pointing at the title where Dumbledore had drawn in the triangle, circle, and line. "It's the same one on the grave of Ignotus Peverell."

"And what does this have to do with Luna's dad?"

"Do you remember that necklace Luna's dad was wearing?" Harry thought back to that night, but his mind did not want to think about Luna's dad. All he could think of was the knee-length blue dress, her tied-back hair, the feel of her head tucked between his shoulder and neck…

Harry shook his head.

"Sorry, I don't remember it clearly," he said honestly.

"His necklace had the same symbol, I'm sure of it," said Hermione. "The symbol has turned out too many times to be coincidence, Harry. Luna's dad, the book, and now a very old tombstone in Godric's Hollow—Harry, this is important."

"Alright," said Harry. "Did Dumbledore say why it mattered?"

"Not precisely, no," said Hermione, looking a bit disappointed. "But I'm sure Luna's dad can help us. And he's on your side, Harry. I'll admit I'm skeptical of anything Luna or her dad might believe in, but I think we have to look into this."

"What about the Snitch," he asked, pulling the little golden ball from his pocket. "Did he offer any _clues_ as to what it's for?"

"Only that it was something you'd need," she said, "something that would open at the right time."

Harry nodded. Another riddle.

"There's one more thing I think you should know," she said, her voice turning a bit flat and empty.

"What's that?"

"Snape," she said, carefully. She explained to Harry how the memories appeared to be linked, and that the Dumbledore that she had spoken with was fully capable of recalling the conversation he had with Harry in the previous instance.

"He still trusts Snape," said Harry incredulously. "I told him what happened. He used the killing curse. I saw it. I was there!"

"I know," said Hermione, gently, trying to force calm in her voice. "But as he put it, '_Things are not always what they appear to be.'"_

Harry just shook his head. He would never forgive Snape, no matter what Dumbledore had said while living, or what he passed on in memory. Snape had murdered the only person keeping Voldemort at bay, dad murdered the man who defended his trustworthiness when no one else did, murdered the aged wizard that Harry had started to think of as a grandfather. He would never forget, and he would never forgive.

"So, Luna's dad," said Hermione after a spell of silence, "do you agree that's our next step?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "It's the only lead we have. But Hermione, I think we're both forgetting something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know where Luna lives," he admitted. "Do you?"

"Not exactly," she said. "But I know approximately where. You know the hills next to the Burrow? They live there, somewhere. Ginny mentioned it awhile back."

"Shame we can't stop in at the Burrow," said Harry after he drained the last of his tea. "Let them know we're alright." Hermione gave him an understanding look.

"We'll see them soon, Harry," she said. "I know it."

**() () ()**

Harry and Hermione landed on the top of the nearest hill overlooking the village of Ottery St. Catchpole with a soft _pop_. The hillcrests were bathed in the dawn light, but the crevices and shallow valleys remained in shadow. Harry instinctively looked over the fields toward the village, spotting the familiar orchard of the Burrow.

"Soon, Harry," reminded Hermione gently, taking hold of his arm. Harry nodded and turned back toward the hills.

"These hills go on for a bit," said Harry, looking ahead and to each side. "We could be out here all day."

"I don't think that will be necessary," said Hermione. She drew her wand, held it loosely in the flat of her palm and incanted, "_Point Me_." The wand spun on her palm three times before it came to a rigid stop, pointing distinctly east of the Burrow.

"I thought that spell only pointed north, Hermione."

"Will and intention, Harry," reminded Hermione. "How do you think I found you so quickly the night we destroyed the locket? Why don't you try it? Think hard of where you want to go and perform the spell."

"Right," he said, thinking hard. _I need to know where Luna lives,_ he thought.

"_Point Me_," he said. He was astounded when his wand pointed in the same direction as Hermione's.

"Shall we go," asked Hermione.

"Yeah," said Harry. Together, they set off at a brisk pace, their cloaks bundled tightly around them as winter was still present in the morning air. Hermione had enchanted their cloaks with warming charms, but even so, the light breeze atop the hills nipped at their nose and ears, quickly turning them bright red.

"It's still Christmas break, isn't it," asked Harry as they ascended the second hill.

"I think so," said Hermione.

"Maybe we'll see Luna too," said Harry thoughtfully. Hermione gave him a wide smile.

"Yes, I think you're right."

They continued their path up and down each hill, with few words shared between them. Despite this, however, Hermione walked close beside him, her arm interlocked with his—loosely as they descended a hill, and firm again as they ascended. Harry wasn't entirely sure what to do, or what to say. Every time he thought he had stringed the right words together, they would disassemble into meaningless noise when he opened his mouth to speak.

Harry knew he had never been any good at telling people what he thought, much less how he felt. Ten years with the Dursleys had groomed him poorly for such occasions. Despite Snape's criticism of his inability to _control his emotions_, he felt his ability in expressing those emotions to be as equally competent as his Occlumency skills. Unsure of what to say, he decided to quiz her instead.

"Hermione, what were you up reading all last night?"

"Horcruxes," said Hermione. Harry waited but she did not elaborate.

"What about them?"

"Their history," she said. "Not terribly detailed, mind you. Very few recorded instances of known wizards who have created them. Interestingly enough, there are no records of a witch having a Horcrux."

"I wonder why—I'm sure there've been a fair number of dark witches out there."

"There have," conceded Hermione. "It's possible they, like a lot of other dark wizards from those times, took the warning seriously about the dangers of creating a Horcrux. Of course, just because there isn't a record of a witch and her Horcrux doesn't mean they don't or didn't exist. They might have been smart enough not to brag about it. But then again, I suppose if you're that committed to Immortality, you're probably not interested in subtlety, are you?"

Harry agreed.

"Haven't you been though those books a few times already," he asked as the fifth hill rose about them.

"Six times, now," said Hermione, matter-of-factly.

"So why were you—"

"—reading them again," she finished for him, her gaze pointedly on the hill. "Because I meant what I said." She looked at Harry, her eyes dancing with the same determination he had seen several times since last night. "I will figure it out, Harry. I'm not going to stop until I do."

"And I don't suppose I can tell you differently, can I?"

"No, you can't."

They climbed the fifth hill, and again, Hermione took firm hold of his arm. As they reached the crest, they could see in the distance a dark looming structure, tall, cylindrical, and harsh against the backdrop of the horizon. They shared a brief glance and started down the hill. It was here, that Harry was finally able to string together two words he had desperately wanted to say.

"Thank you."

Hermione gave him a small smile, squeezed his arm and urged him onward.

"Let's go see Luna."


	36. Mr Lovegood's Turmoil

**A familiar scene - though with hopefully a very different feeling. I know this may be a bit frustrating for some, given all the out-of-canon character reflections of recent chapters (which I'm pleased to have received positive reviews for), but I must set the stage once again. Yes, we're going back to Malfoy Manor, and no, Mr. Lovegood did not redeem himself, I'm afraid. But hopefully it's a bit more human this time around. A bit more desperate. A bit more sincere. **

**We will see a different Malfoy Manor, but we've got to get there first. **

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Mr. Lovegood's Turmoil**

Harry and Hermione approached the Lovegood's house. The dark stone of the exterior appeared like a silhouette against the backdrop of the cloud-strewn sky. As they drew nearer, a series of brightly painted paving stones had been sunk into the ground, leading to the crooked and leaning entry gate where a series of signs had been haphazardly attached, signifying without question they had found Luna's home.

Together, they stepped over the threshold and followed the uneven paving stones around two severely bent and low-hanging crab apple trees. The paving stones eventually led to a narrow set of stone steps, where, on the landing, stood a great aged black door heavily adorned with great iron bands holding it together. Mounted dead center was the head of an eagle, beak closed, with a pair of brilliant blue-gem eyes that Harry suspected might be peep holes from inside. Hermione motioned to the door and Harry knocked.

The door was answered hastily, flung open with such force it generated a slight breeze distinct from the one nature had made. Xenophilius stood before them, eyes wide and mouth agape, barefoot and dressed like he had been in bed for some time. After his shock, Xenophilius' eyes found the scar upon Harry's forehead. His eyes sharpened and suddenly, he looked like a man who had just woken from a terrible dream.

"Harry Potter, and...Miss. Granger, is it," said Xeno, his eyes darting from Harry to Hermione, and finally, a grand survey of the land. "What in Merlyn's name brings you to my home? Brave to wander in broad daylight, given…given the state of things," he added, his voice climbing several octaves.

"We're not exactly wandering," replied Harry in feigned politeness. "I was hoping you might be able to help us with something, Mr. Lovegood."

"Help," he repeated. "Doubtful I have any help to give, Mr. Potter."

"I'd rather explain inside," said Harry. "Can we come in? The wind is a bit cold."

"It isn't safe," said Xeno, his voice dropping to hardly a whisper. "You should be on your way, you know…far away…yes, that would be better for all, I think."

"Please, Mr. Lovegood," interjected Hermione. "This is incredibly important. You might be the only one who can help us."

"Surely there is someone else," said Xeno, looking more and more uncomfortable. "I'm just an editor, you know. It really isn't safe for you here—not anymore."

"Mr. Lovegood, I was under the impression you wanted to help me," asked Harry, remembering the editor's words from the wedding.

"It isn't really an issue of support, so much as…"

"I promise it won't take long," said Harry urgently. "An hour or so of your time is all we need."

"Very well, yes, come in, come in," he said, stepping to the side and motioning for them to step through the entry way. "Luna wouldn't like it if I turned her friends away, I don't think." Immediately, they were greeted by the most peculiar kitchen Harry had ever laid eyes upon. The room was a perfect circle, with the cabinets, the sink, the appliances—even the windows—were curved to fit the room in the most complimentary of ways. Furthermore, the cabinets, the walls, and the ceiling had been painted with varying flowers, insects, and birds in vivid, bright, primary colors.

In the middle was a wrought-iron spiral staircase that led to both the upper levels and down to what Harry assumed was a cellar or basement. Xeno had rushed past them, climbed the stairs, skipping every other step, until he had vanished from view. Shortly after, there were a series of bangs, clangs, and what sounded like something large and heavy was dragged across the floor.

"Up here, if you please," said Xeno, his head ducking down the stairwell for a brief moment.

Harry and Hermione shared a nervous glance, but followed Xeno up and into the room above. Harry started to feel uncomfortable. This was not the cheerful, welcoming Xenophilius he had met at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

As they stepped onto the landing, Harry knew immediately they had entered Mr. Lovegood's workplace, though some of the space had been used for a living room. There were several piles of books and papers, old editions of The Quibbler, and even a few old printings of The Daily Prophet. In the corner of the room (or what felt like one, since the house had no corner to speak of), was what appeared to be an old wooden printing press. It had been covered—in a bit of a rush by the unevenness of it—by a severely-stained table-cloth. Harry suspected the noise they had heard from the kitchen had been Mr. Lovegood's scramble to clean his workspace.

"I'm sorry for the mess," he said, his voice still uneven but with less jitteriness. "I'd have cleaned up a bit more had I known…but then, well, I daresay I couldn't have known, could I? Yes, can't send so much as owl post these days without…without unwanted eyes…"

"Mr. Lovegood, where is Luna," asked Hermione.

"Luna?"

"Yes, isn't it the holiday," asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing.

"Yes, yes it is," said Xeno. "She, er, stayed at Hogwarts this holiday. She isn't here."

"Oh," said Hermione, disappointed. "I thought she always came home for Christmas."

"Yes, yes she did—er, I mean—does, normally she does," said Xeno, who was now absentmindedly shuffling through bits of parchment. "But, well, she is approaching the age when little daughters aren't so little anymore, are they? No, less interested in dad and more interested in a boy, I suspect. These things happen. You can't stop them. I do hope he hasn't got a large infestation of Nargles, though—_that _would be unacceptable. But I suppose Luna would set him straight, wouldn't she? Perhaps it's for the best, after all."

"Er…right," said Hermione, who looked as though she had regretted asking.

"So, Mr. Potter, what can I help you with?"

"Well, I know this probably won't make any sense, but, I was wondering about the necklace you were wearing at the wedding this summer, Mr. Lovegood."

"You mean, this necklace," he asked, pulling on the golden chain around his neck and then clasping the triangular pendant. He held it out to them for a clear view. It was indeed the very symbol written in Dumbledore's book, and the symbol that had been engraved into the old gravestone in Godric's Hollow.

"Yes," said Harry. "We wondered if it meant anything?"

"It does indeed," said Xeno, breathlessly. For that brief moment, Mr. Lovegood had reclaimed his former self, the exuberant, child-like curiosity blazing clearly in his eyes. "This is the sign we believers use to identify ourselves to each other and to encourage one another in the quest."

"Quest," asked Hermione.

"To seek The Deathly Hallows, of course," said Xeno, sitting down across from them. He stowed the necklace back inside the confines of his nightgown and took a deep breath. "You've heard of them before, I'm sure?" Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads.

"Perhaps you've heard the story of the three brothers?"

"Yes," said Harry and Hermione simultaneously.

"Excellent," he said, clapping his hands together. "Then you know what the Hallows are after all."

"You mean the objects in the story, the wand, the stone, and the cloak—those are the Deathly Hallows," asked Hermione, her eyes wide and skeptical.

"Yes, yes," said Xeno. He took a sheet of parchment and rummaged on the table through another separate stack of parchment and found a quill and a half used bottle of ink.

He dipped the quill and drew a singular line down the middle.

"The Elder Wand," he said.

Then, he drew a circle with a radius half that of the line.

"The Resurrection Stone," he whispered.

Finally, he drew an equilateral triangle, starting at the highest point of the line, until it enclosed both the singular line and circle.

"The Cloak of Invisibility," he said, looking as though he had accomplished a great feat. "Together, they are the Deathly Hallows."

"But the story doesn't mention anything about Deathly Hallows, Mr. Lovegood," said Hermione quickly.

"Of course not, my dear lady," said Xeno. "The tale of the Three Brothers is a fairytale rendition of the real story, meant to instruct in the proper usage of those items."

"You believe these items exist, then," asked Harry. He could see the high-level of doubt flashing in Hermione's eyes.

"Certainly, I do," said Xeno. "And I am not the only one," he added, pointing to the table. Harry's eyes traced the direction of Xeno's outstretched finger and found a copy of Rita's book: _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore._

Here, Harry and Hermione both shared a nervous glance. Harry was the first to recover though.

"Do you believe what Rita wrote about Dumbledore, Mr. Lovegood," asked Harry, curiously.

"There are some things that ring with authenticity," said Xeno, a hint of sadness washing over his face. "But Rita—as I am sure you know from first-hand experience—isn't one to highlight the whole story, is she? No, I think anything she writes must always be handled with great caution and care. She does not hold the same reverence for journalism as she ought to."

Harry turned to Hermione.

"Was there anything about Hallows in the book?"

Hermione thought long and hard, and then shook her head.

"I've only been through it once, Harry, but I'm sure I would have remembered it."

"But they are, Miss. Granger," said Xeno, "Sometimes, you have to look at more than what you see." He grabbed his copy and thumbed through several pages. When he'd found the page he was looking for, he sat the book down in front of them and pointed at the letter Dumbledore had written to Grindelwald.

"Mr. Lovegood, I've read this letter before," said Hermione impatiently. "The Hallows weren't mentioned at all."

"Take a closer look, my dear," said Xeno, pointing to the bottom of the letter. Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder, his eyes widening as Hermione clucked her tongue.

"It's the mark," she breathed. "Does this mean Dumbledore and Grindelwald believed in the Hallows? That they actually existed?"

"Dumbledore has never said such publically, but, as I've told you, the mark is how believers identify themselves to others pursuing the quest," he said. "I think here," he added, pointing to the mark on the letter, "is physical, tangible proof that at one stage in his life, he did. And I think it highly probably that Gellert Grindelwald sought them as well. Why else would such a talented—albeit highly disturbed young man—come to Godric's Hollow of all places?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed in concentration. Then—

"Of course," she said, "the grave of Ignotus Peverell—he wanted to see the mark on the tombstone!"

"Indeed," said Xeno. "Yes, that was my thought as well. You see, it is believed the Peverell brothers at one time were in possession of these objects—possibly the creators themselves."

"But, but," said Hermione, as though every thought were consuming her ability to breathe, "but Mr. Lovegood, these things—an invisibility cloak is one thing—but an unbeatable wand, and a stone to revive the dead…those things aren't real."

"And why ever should they not be?"

"Well, for one, a wand is only as powerful as the witch or wizard, isn't it? It doesn't have an innate strength, or power, does it? The wand is only a tool of the witch or wizard who is using it to focus their magic."

"And yet, Ollivander would disagree with you, I think," said Xeno smiling. "The wand _chooses_ the wizard, as he so often likes to say. Wandcraft is an extraordinarily complex branch of magic—who is to say definitively how the bond of wizard and wand is formed, or if that knowledge of a previous master does not somehow imprint itself within its very being, sharing all that gathered experience and power with its next partner?

"The cloak, as you say, is the most believable because you yourself know that invisibility cloaks exist, but you would be mistaken to confuse the legitimate cloak of the story with our feeble attempts of replicating it. Unlike other cloaks, though, the true cloak of invisibility would have passed down from one generation to the next, unfading, and unaffected by any spell or jinx that might force the cloak to become visible, for that would be contrary to the nature of the Cloak, which is to _always_ conceal its owner. You've never seen such a cloak, I'd wager," he said.

Harry met Hermione's gaze. Harry just so happened to possess a cloak like the one Xenophilius was describing.

"Alright," said Hermione, trying to remain calm, "say a wand could inherit the abilities, or experiences of its previous masters, and a cloak like the one you suggest did exist—what about the stone?"

"What about it," he asked.

"There has never been anything in magical history to suggest such a thing as that exists. There would be stories, accounts, records—something that validated the stone's existence!"

"But my dear, there is," said Xeno with a heavy sign. "Haven't you been listening—the Tale of the Three Brothers is the record!"

"Children's tales," she retorted.

"Luna did warn me about you," said Xeno with an awkward laugh, "intelligent enough for the great house of Ravenclaw, but with a closed mind. Never-the less," he said, holding his hand up to stall Hermione's next response, "You are assuming the stone does not exist because you cannot—or do not want to—consider the possibility that there could exist a force strong enough, capable enough—_divine_ enough—to do the impossible. Our history is filled with magic of the extraordinary, Miss. Granger; who is to say that such a thing is impossible? After all, Muggles believe there is no such thing as magic, do they not? And yet, their literature contains volumes of cautionary tales much like the story of the Deathly Hallows—each, interestingly enough—focused upon an item of extraordinary power that should not have been used in the manner in which it was."

"And…there's nothing else this symbol could mean," asked Hermione.

"Well, as a matter-of-fact," said Xeno, slowly, "the symbol of the Deathly Hallows did acquire another meaning, during Grindelwald's attempted conquest of Europe. It became his symbol of—you might have guessed it already—_The Greater Good_."

Harry shared a glance with Hermione. Despite knowing that Dumbledore had indeed turned away from the foolishness of his youth, and his short-lived friendship with Grindelwald, the idea that Dumbledore had imagine himself a ruler through justified subjugation still made Harry uncomfortable.

"Yes," said Xeno, his voice trailing off for a moment, "Yes, Gellert perverted the sign, turning it toward his own purposes while blatantly declaring his right to inherit such objects. It would have gone unnoticed by the masses, but to the few who studied, who searched—to someone like Dumbledore—it had a very clear double meaning."

"But, Mr. Lovegood," said Hermione, making another attempt toward reason, "wouldn't someone have found these objects by now? Wouldn't we have had conclusive, historical recording of a stone with the ability to revive the dead?"

"Not necessarily," said Xeno. "We do have substantial proof of the wand—the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, the Wand of Elder—but the stone and cloak, interestingly enough, very little recorded. Perhaps because out of the three, wizards and witches alike with a certain desire or obsession for power only seek one of the Hallows—the unbeatable wand, as it is often referred to. And yet, the hands that have held it are easily traceable—even accounting for some very long gaps—by defeat, murder, trickery, or some other tragic tale of an owner forfeiting it to someone new. It has a rather bloody history.

"Regarding the stone or the cloak, well, certainly, those are difficult to trace. But the story does give us clues," said Xeno, standing and pacing around the sofa. "The cloak was very specifically called out as having been passed from the father—the youngest brother—to his son, when his time had come to pass. I think, as do others, that the cloak has continued to pass in such a fashion. It would be a rather priceless family heirloom, would it not? Not something you are likely to inform the world of possessing, I don't think. Furthermore, almost all of us agree that the brother who possessed the cloak was none other than Ignotus himself—the only brother who died a natural death, who, in the cemetery, is buried alone, without his brothers. The sole survivor of a tragic encounter with such powerful objects.

"The stone, however—and to your understandable hesitancy, Miss. Granger—is the object most absent of any record. But simply because you yourself have never seen it, touched it, or likewise experienced anything similar, does not mean it does not exist. We may never see it. It could be lost to wizardkind forever. Just like the sword Excalibur, or Merlyn's wand, or Ravenclaw's Diadem, such things existed, though we have never found them again."

The three sat in silence then, each unsure what to say next. Xenophilius would continually glance out the windows, moving from one side of the room to the next, his hands fidgeting as though he would soon be asked to speak to a large and hostile crowd.

"Thank you, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry finally after receiving a confirming nod from Hermione that it was time to be on their way. "I think you've told us everything we need to know. We'll be on our way, now."

"It'll be dark soon," said Xeno, his eyes still looking out the window. "Perhaps it'd be best if you stayed after all, yes?"

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Lovegood," said Hermione, "but it would be best if we were on our way." Together, Harry and Hermione stood up from the sofa and started for the stairs. But then, Mr. Lovegood rushed toward them, his feet slamming down on the wooded floors as though laboring beneath a heavy weight. He stood at the landing, both hands gripping the metal railing on each side, his eyes wide, face red, and breathing heavily.

"I need your help, Harry Potter," said Xeno, his voice short and out of breath.

Both Harry and Hermione had drawn their wands. Harry had the sudden feeling that he was regretting the decision to come into the house at all.

"My help," asked Harry, hesitantly.

"Yes, you're help," he said. "Only you can help me."

"What's happened, Mr. Lovegood," asked Hermione, her eyes narrowing. "What do you need?"

Xenophilius looked intensely at Harry.

"You're her friend," he said matter-of-factly. "You want to help my Luna, don't you?"

"I thought Luna was at school, Mr. Lovegood," said Harry, though his stomach had turned to knots. Harry had a suspicion that Xenophilius had not been entirely honest with about Luna.

"You're a good person, I know it," he said, his words rushing out in an unsteady rhythm. "Luna thinks so highly of you. I admit, I too think highly of you. But you're the only one that can."

"What can I do," asked Harry, who was getting a bit annoyed with the verbal dance.

"They took my Luna, Harry Potter," he said. "They took my Luna from me and they won't give her back, because of the things I've been writing."

"The Death Eaters have Luna," asked Harry, "because you've been helping me?"

Xenophilius nodded.

"Took her—gone!"

"Why didn't you tell us from the start," asked Harry. The familiar bile of guilt swirled in his stomach. _How many more were going to suffer because of him?_

"Because…because I don't think Luna will approve of what I'm about to do," he said, swallowing hard. "But you understand, don't you? She's all I have, Harry Potter. I have nothing else."

Hermione stepped forward and stood between Harry and Xenophilius, her wand pointed sharply at the editor's chest.

"You're hoping the Death Eater's will return Luna if you give them Harry, right," she asked.

"They said they would," said Xeno. He looked like a child who had been caught red-handed in the middle of mischief making. "They said if I stopped writing and brought them Harry Potter, they would give me back my Luna."

"Not going to happen," said Hermione. "And Luna wouldn't approve, Mr. Lovegood. You can still do the right thing. Let us go. Or I'll make you move."

"It's too late," said Xeno. "They're already here." And before Harry or Hermione could say anything, before Hermione could blast Xenophilius down the stairs, several _pops _of Apparition could be heard downstairs.

"He's up here," shouted Xenophilius. "He's up here, I've got him!"

Hermione punched him, sending the distraught editor down the flight of stairs. She then turned to Harry, grabbed his hand, and turned on the spot. Only they had not Disapparated like Harry had expected.

"Dammit," said Hermione. They could hear clanging steps of someone ascending the spiral staircase. "We don't have much time, Harry," she said, throwing him a vial of Polyjuice.

"Hermione," he questioned, but she threw him a glare that quickly silenced his protest. He took the stopper off as Hermione hurled the wooden press from the end of the room to block the staircase, sending copies of The Quibbler scattered about the room. One of the copies fell at Harry's feet. The page featured a large portrait of himself, with a large heading that read:

**UNDESIREALBE NUMBER ONE:**

"Bastard," said Hermione. She looked at Harry who had yet to consume the potion.

"Drink it, Harry, or I'll force it down your throat," she said worriedly.

"What about you," he asked.

"That's the last one," she said. "I've saved it for something like this—a tight spot. They can't know it's you. It's the only chance we have."

"It's only good for an hour," he protested. He pointed his wand at the chandelier over the opening of the stairs and sent it crashing down. He heard one of the intruder's curse and then tumble.

"It buys us time, Harry, please," she said. "If they know it's you, it's straight to Tom, you know it." Hermione looked him straight in the eyes. "You're not meeting him today, Harry."

Harry nodded and drained the vial. Hermione vanished the vial just as the wooden press was blown away into pieces, followed by streams of red light and then, darkness.


	37. Desperate Power

**Fair warning-this chapter contains torture. Things play out a bit differently here. Hoping my readers will enjoy the changes. **

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Desperate Power**

Harry opened his eyes to complete darkness. He was lying on a hard, cold surface, and the air was cool and damp as well. His body felt heavy and stiff as though he had been lying on the floor for hours. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, blurred shapes gradually sharpened into focus. He reached with his hand and felt for his glasses, which were, surprisingly, still in place. Turning his head to the right, he could make out the nearest stone column beside him, next to which were a few large wooden crates. Beyond this, the space was dark and indiscernible. To his left, a second column and an expanse of darkness. However, at the end of the darkness was a feeble sliver of light, seeping in from what Harry assumed was a small window. Then, he remembered where he had been before he woke.

He pulled himself quickly from the floor, standing tall and erect.

"Hermione," he called, his voice dead in the darkness.

"She's not here," said a familiar voice, to his left. Harry looked toward the small light again. Squinting, he could make out a shadowy figure at the edge of light. Then, to his surprise, Luna stepped out of the darkness.

"Luna?"

She had been injured, Harry quickly noticed, walking toward her. There were a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises on her face and neck. One of her eyes was swollen and purple.

"Oh, you know who I am," she said as Harry stepped into the light of the small window.

"Of course I do," said Harry, a bit confused. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I've never seen you before," she said matter-of-factly. Harry found this a very strange statement, but then remembered. He held his hand up to find a rather large, unfamiliar one instead. The Polyjuice was still in effect.

Luna then stepped very close to Harry—not more than an inch separating them—and looked into Harry's face. She looked intently at him for a few moments and then smiled, revealing several cracks on her dry lips.

"It's nice to see you, Harry," said Luna quietly. "You calling for Hermione is less confusing now."

"Luna, how long have I been here?"

"Not long," she said. "They brought you here unconscious maybe ten minutes ago. I didn't see Hermione, though."

"Do you know where we are?"

"Malfoy Manor," she whispered sadly. "In the cellars, I think. At first, it was just was me. Then they brought Mr. Ollivander," she added, pointing to the dark corner. Harry could see an extremely thin shadow of a man leaning into the corner of room. "It was strange, you know—when they brought you in, they brought daddy too. And they took the Goblin away." As soon as Luna had called out her father, Xenophilius stepped away from the opposite corner to stand behind his daughter, setting a shaking hand on her shoulder. Harry looked Mr. Lovegood in the face and found a great deal of worry and tears on the man's face. Harry could feel his heart start to beat uncomfortably. He knew the Malfoys would immediately recognize Hermione and she was declared Undesirable Number Two by the ministry. Hermione was in danger and the man responsible was standing with his daughter as a shield between them. Harry fought the desire to wring the feeble editor's neck.

"Daddy said he wanted to rescue me," said Luna. "Is that why you're here, Harry? Are you helping daddy rescue us?"

Harry looked from Luna and again to Mr. Lovegood. He took a long breath, fully intent on explaining exactly why they had all arrived at this place. And yet, Harry recognized Mr. Lovegood's predicament. Luna had been taken, all on account of the Quibbler's unabashed support of him. He swallowed hard and nodded to Luna.

"Yeah, we're going to get you out, Luna," he said, finally. Harry turned his eyes from Luna and fully averted the surprised look that had fallen over Mr. Lovegood's face. He felt around for his wand despite knowing it was useless. They would have taken it after he had been stunned.

"Luna, did the people who brought me here mention anything at all about Hermione?"

"No, Harry, they didn't."

"Do you remember anything about the people who brought me in here?"

"Not particularly," admitted Luna. "They're called Snatchers, I think. They have an awful infestation of Nargles, though. They took the Goblin prisoner back upstairs with them. They didn't say anything."

"Right," said Harry. He shook his head. None of this information was helpful, but he couldn't really blame Luna for that.

"Where's the door to this place," he asked after another minute of examining the room. It was long and narrow, roughly twenty or thirty feet wide and twice that in length.

"Down there," said Luna, pointing to the opposite end. "It's useless though," she added. "Mr. Ollivander and I have tried for weeks."

"I understand," said Harry as he traversed the room as quickly as he could, navigating the obstacles with outstretched hands. All they needed was an opportunity. Still, his thoughts were on Hermione. _Where was she?_ _Was she alright?_

**() () ()**

Hermione had been bound with her arms behind her back by tight, black rope. She had been placed on her knees in the center of the room, surrounded by several of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Lucius and his wife, Narcissa, stood at her back, each with a nervous but hopeful expression. Draco stood leaning against the mantle, his eyes staring down at the cold, empty grate, his face contorted as though he were standing near a foul odor. Peter Pettigrew, his back hunched over, stood beside a goblin, who was likewise tightly bound. His wand was gripped tightly in his silver hand and his face was pale. His eyes darted about the room as though looking for exits.

"Hello, Mudblood," said Bellatrix, bending over so that she could speak in Hermione's ear. Bellatrix had a crazed smile as she traced a finger over Hermione's cheek, while in the other hand she held the Sword of Gryffindor. "I can't begin to tell you how pleased I am to have you as our little guest."

"Are you always this hospitable with your guests," asked Hermione quietly, her voice an octave higher than normal.

"Not at all, dearie," said Bella, with a short and haunted laugh. "This is just for you, sweetie; a special privilege."

"I'm delighted."

"Such a tough Mudblood, aren't we," said Bella with mock fright. She drew a thin, sharp knife with a bone handle and licked her lips. "I hope you are as…_delighted _as I am for this evening's entertainment."

Hermione looked up into Bella's crazed eyes but remained silent.

"Perhaps not as tough as you want to be," whispered Bella. "I'll give you a chance, Muddy: where did you get this sword and who is the boy down in our cellar?"

"We found the sword," she said. "We didn't take it from anyone. We found it in the woods."

"Strike one, dearie," said Bella, and before Hermione could even react, silver flashed before her eyes. At first, Hermione thought she had missed, but a few moments later, she could feel the slow trickle of blood spill down her cheek. Then, she felt the burn of the blade. She had been cut across the cheek. The cut was shallow, but stung badly.

"Who is the boy," asked Bellatrix, her nose inches from Hermione's.

"I don't really know him," said Hermione quickly. "We met while on the run. His name is Dudley. Vernon Dudley."

"Strike two," said Bella. Hermione closed her eyes and braced for another slash of the knife, but instead, she felt herself forced to the floor and onto her back as though a hard hurricane wind had flown through the Malfoy's living room. Winded, Hermione opened her eyes just to see Bellatrix straddle her with a wide and deranged grin. Bella motioned for Lucius to hold the sword. Lucius—unbalanced and wobbling—took the sword with a hint of distaste. He was clearly un-used to being ordered about in his own home. Hermione didn't have long to ponder this, however, as Bellatrix had withdrawn her wand. A quick swish and Hermione felt the tight chords binding her hands loosen. Hermione attempted to push Bella off her body, but the mad witch was ready. Bellatrix waved her wand and Hermione discovered she was unable to raise her arms. All she could do was arch her back and kick her legs.

"I do so enjoy it when you squirm, Muddy," said Bella, her excitement dripping from her words. She brought the knife point to Hermione's throat close enough for her to feel it, but not so close as to break the skin. Bella traced the knife point along Hermione's shoulder and down the length of her left forearm. Slowly—enjoying the anticipation of the moment—Bella cut away the long sleeve, revealing Hermione's bare flesh. Then, with an even wider, disfiguring smile, Bella began to trace out letters on Hermione's exposed forearm, never hard enough to actually break skin.

"Do you know what I think, Muddy," said Bellatrix, her voice dropping into a guttural tone. "I think you're a liar. I think you've been into my vaults at Gringotts—how, I don't know. That offense alone warrants a severe punishment. But I'm actually more interested in the young man downstairs. I think I know who he is. You know I'm right, don't you, Muddy?"

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about," said Hermione, her heart pounding heavily against her chest. Perhaps Bella could feel the quickened pace and laughed heartily at Hermione's distress.

"Your kind don't belong here, you know," said Bella, still tracing letters on Hermione's forearm. Hermione swallowed the bile gathering in her throat as she recognized the formation of letters; Mudblood.

"I swear, we found it," said Hermione, desperate. Then, she remembered the overheard conversation in the forest months ago. "It's a fake, it isn't the real sword."

"Lying again," said Bella. "But we'll know soon enough, won't we, dearie?" She looked up at Pettigrew. "Wormtail, bring me the goblin!" Wormtail sputtered before jabbing his wand into the goblin's back, urging him toward the center of the room. Bellatrix brought her knife to the goblin's throat.

"Well, Goblin, is the sword a fake like the Muddy says it is?"

The goblin turned his small, black eyes to the sword held out before him by Lucius. His ears flickered and his long nose scrunched as he observed the glistening blade.

"I cannot discern the authenticity of the blade without touch," said the goblin matter-of-factly. Bella loosened his arms and ordered Lucius to surrender the sword. The goblin took the sword in hand and turned it thrice over beneath the window light. He took hold of the ruby encrusted handle, twirling the blade. Finally, he glided the edge of the blade along one of his long outstretched fingers, drawing a small trickle of blood. He held the sword for Lucius to reclaim.

"Well, goblin," asked Bella, impatiently.

"It is a fake," said the goblin, tonelessly. "A convincing forgery, but this is not the Sword of Gryffindor."

"A lucky break for you, dearie," said Bella, looking down on Hermione again. "Wormtail, take the goblin back to the cellar. And bring me the boy." Hermione, feeling the temporarily elation fade as the goblin was drug away. Bellatrix must have noticed this, for she brought the knife point back to Hermione's forearm, leaned over her body and whispered in her ear as though they were lovers.

"If you won't tell me, perhaps he will, after he hears you scream."

Bella's breath was hot on Hermione's neck, sending waves of shivers down her back. She closed her eyes, praying help would come. It was her last thought before she felt the sharp puncture of cool steel.

**() () ()**

Harry gripped the iron wrought bars of the cellar door, his heart plummeting as Hermione's scream descended down the stone staircase and into the cellar. He had never heard Hermione scream like that—not through any of the near-death experiences they had shared. The pitch forced the hairs on Harry's neck to stand. Following the scream was a sound Harry would never forget, for he had heard the celebratory laugh the night Sirius had died: Bellatrix.

Fear gripped Harry. He pulled on the iron bars as hard as he could, but the cellar door remained shut. Hermione screamed a second time, louder and longer than the first. Bellatrix's laughter was louder still. Harry felt as though his entire chest would implode from the invisible rope that had bound itself around him from the fear it had morphed out from. He could no longer stand it.

"Hermione!"

A third scream. He could hear her throat tearing.

"Hermione," he shouted, desperate. "Hermione!"

There was a pause. Then he heard Bellatrix's voice float down.

"You are a tough Muddy after all," she said with gleeful laughter. "We might just have some fun after all!"

Another pause. Harry gripped the iron bars so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

_Think_, he thought to himself. _Think—there has to be a way out._

**() () ()**

"Please….stop…please…"

"Calling it quits already, Muddy? I thought you were made of tougher stuff."

"…Hurts…please…stop…"

Bella lowered herself over Hermione's body once again and whispered into her ear.

"We're almost done, Muddy. Just another letter to go and it will all be over."

"No…please..."

"You should know I don't like begging by now, dearie," said Bella, licking her lips. "Just tell me who your boyfriend is and I'll finish this up quickly."

"I…I told you…his name…is Vernon…Vernon—"

"—wrong. All wrong," said Bella, cutting into her flesh again, her excitement building with the downward stroke of the blade as she etched the stem of the final letter." Hermione's scream nearly deafened her. At least, it would have had Bellatrix not taken the proper precautions.

"That's it, dearie," said Bella, licking the trail of blood from the fresh cut. "Relish the pain. We'll be done soon. And then my fun will be spent. But, then again, Greyback's fun will just be starting. He likes your figure, Muddy. Not sure why," she added, looking Hermione over with a scrutinizing eye. "But, I suppose you'll do for what _he's_ looking for, am I right?"

"Please…I've…I've told you everything…"

"Almost done," said Bella, driving the knife point into her skin once more.

**() () ()**

Hermione screamed again. Harry fought the burning in his eyes. He continued to pull at the cellar door.

_Why her_, he thought desperately. He thought of the people responsible for this. If Mr. Lovegood had not been so cowardly, they never would have been ambushed. He then turned that blame to himself. If Mr. Lovegood had never supported him in the first place, Luna would never have been taken, and Mr. Lovegood would never have become so desperate.

_She doesn't deserve this. This shouldn't be happening to her. It's me they want…_

_Yes,_ he thought again. The thought calmed him. It was him they wanted. He could end her suffering. Just as he was about to yell up the staircase, he heard heavy footsteps descend.

He motioned for everyone to get out of sight and moved behind the nearest crate, ready to pounce on however was coming.

"St—stand back," called the feeble voice Harry knew. It was Wormtail! The soft clink of the lock was sharp in the cellar. The iron bar door creaked open and both Wormtail and the goblin—who Harry recognized as Griphook—stepped into the cellar. Wormtail pushed the goblin forward hastily and looked around.

"Where's the boy?"

Harry eyed the wand in Wormtail's hand. He needed that wand. It was Hermione's only chance. _How long had passed since he'd woken? _The Polyjuice would expire soon. If he could overpower Wormtail, he had a chance to save Hermione. If he couldn't, then he could present himself in exchange.

Wormtail stepped further into the cellar, lit his wand, and started to look around. Harry left the crate and followed behind with the perfected skills of sneaking he had practiced during his Hogwarts years, waiting for the right moment. But he was too busy watching Wormtail that he failed to watch his step. His toe caught the corner of another crate, and he stumbled. Wormtail turned quickly and pointed his wand.

"St-stop right there," said Wormtail. "Y-you need to come with me, upstairs."

"Is this how you thank me, Peter?"

"D-don't know wh-what you're talking about," he said. "I d-don't even know you."

"Yes you do," said Harry. "I saved your life."

Wormtail's eyes grew large.

"Harry," whispered Wormtail. "Harry P-Potter?"

"I saved your life, Peter, you owe me."

"I d-don't owe you anything, Harry," said Wormtail, his wand shaking slightly as he continued to hold it against Harry.

Hermione screamed again. He had to act now. Without warning, with reflexes honed as a Seeker, Harry lunged forward toward Pettigrew, his hand reaching for the wand. But Wormtail was quicker than Harry expected. He swished his wand haphazardly at Harry, sending him backwards and off his feet, crashing into one of the stone columns. Wormtail raised his wand a second time, but then a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck.

It was Luna.

"Hurry, Harry!"

But Harry was disoriented and felt like his head had been split into two. He clumsily pulled himself back to his feet and lunged a second time at Peter.

Harry had done it. The force at which he had collided with Wormtail sent the man off his balance and tumbled to the stone floor. Luna pulled herself away as Harry now grabbed hold of Wormtail's wand, both fighting to wrench it from the other's grip.

Wormtail—realizing he would never overpower Harry's grip, took his silver hand and squeezed on Harry's neck. Harry fought to push him away, but his father's childhood friend was too large and heavy for him as Wormtail tossed him over to the side and positioned himself over Harry. Luna tried to push Wormtail away, but she could not dislodge him.

"Daddy, help!"

"I—Luna dear, perhaps we should—"

"Daddy, he's hurting Harry!"

Harry was losing oxygen. His eyes were starting to feel heavy. He was getting weaker by the moment. His heart was beating frantically and painfully against his chest. He could hear Hermione screaming again. He just needed someone to help her.

_Save Hermione, _he thought. _Anyone. Just…save her. _

He could no longer keep his eyes open.

Then, several things happened all at once.

There was a loud _pop_ in the air, followed by a loud clicking of some sort, an explosion, and the happy tone of a very welcomed voice.

"You shall not hurt Harry Potter."

Harry opened his eyes. Dobby was hovering over him, Wormtail's wand clutched loosely in his hand.

"Dobby?"

"Dobby has come for Harry Potter," said the elf excitedly.

"But how?"

Dobby turned his head to the side as though very confused.

"Harry Potter needed Dobby. Dobby came."

**Author's Note: Dobby's appearance will be explained; fear not. **


End file.
